


a golden silver song (in the afternoon)

by sangiebyheart



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Accidental Kissing, Canon Compliant, Established Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Miscommunication, Moaning, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, i can explain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangiebyheart/pseuds/sangiebyheart
Summary: Yunho’s world falls off its axis on the regular. He is no stranger to the strangeness of it all - after all, he is not exactly living the epitome of normalcy, as a young dancer and singer in an internationally successful idol group, that is.It is hard to tell, in such unique circumstances, if your skill, your craft and your passion suffice in holding you steady for long enough that you can keep on perfecting them. Yunho loses his balance, trips and falls, suffers from the strain of an ankle or the pain in his back more often than he would like, but he is restless, and he is determined.He is confident beyond measure.Though, what is most important to him, he is not alone.Or, five times Jeong Yunho finds himself in Song Mingi's bed by (un)lucky circumstance, and the one time Song Mingi lures him into it.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi
Comments: 49
Kudos: 156





	a golden silver song (in the afternoon)

**Author's Note:**

> be nice to creatinys or else
> 
> enjoy <3

Despite a great many superstitions telling of the opposite, reality does not hold a lot of moments where the world falls off its axis.

You are the deviant.

You stray from your path, you fly above your station, paint the world in other colors than it truly is, until you gain a perspective so different and strange, you seek fault in its own nature, instead of the emotions which brought on the inner turmoil in the first place.

It all feels like jumping higher than you are meant to, and falling even deeper as punishment.

Until you land, not always as softly as you would like, and yet you land nonetheless - seeing, clearer now, in preparation of the next time your life will lend you wings and you shall see the world from up above, gazing down with the same disorientation as before, the same anger at uncontrollable change you alone were the culprit of.

Your mind believes you to be at square one, then, every single time you rise anew.

The truth, however; the truth is that control is the only variable deciding over your fate. Its amount in your hands, in the hands of those around you - there is not much you can do to trade them for it, for they feel as helpless as you do, deep down, when they think the world has stopped spinning even when it is still dancing on without you.

Yunho has learned to dance on with it, even as he is dizzy from being left behind so cruelly. Control means nothing to him, for he chases after what he believes to be ground zero, tries to catch up with time to not get stuck in the past. To dwell where he has no place any longer, means to miss out on what the day has to offer him in real time.

Opportunities, most of all. Chances. Risks. Something to be dared, something begging to be made, used, taken, while they are the very embodiment of the presence. The challenge lies in grasping them when you might not be able to. When your dancing is not quite enough to catch up, your movements fluid, quick, yet sluggish in comparison to what they should, what they must be.

Yunho’s world falls off its axis on the regular. He is no stranger to the strangeness of it all - after all, he is not exactly living the epitome of normalcy, as a young dancer and singer in an internationally successful idol group, that is.

It is hard to tell, in such unique circumstances, if your skill, your craft and your passion suffice in holding you steady for long enough that you can keep on perfecting them. Yunho loses his balance, trips and falls, suffers from the strain of an ankle or the pain in his back more often than he would like, but he is restless, and he is determined.

He is confident beyond measure.

Though, what is most important to him, he is not alone.

Yunho is one of the lucky few to have not one, but two families to fall back on, should he need to, upon the inevitable imminence of distress. Bound by blood or bound by strength and resilience, an exchange of love and care in moments when, perhaps, you need to be pulled along for the occasional decelerating fatigue.

Yunho is not afraid to do the same for them, would go to great lengths and dizzying heights to make sure that they can all work for their dreams for many years to come.

They often dream big, too; Hongjoong was the first person to ever teach Yunho that the world can throw you back into the realm of the hopeless, but that you can always crawl out of it, against all adversity placed in your way. Yunho has not seen a reason to distrust the smartest dreamer of them all, a man with unrivaled dedication to his group and his music.

Yunho will be the first to admit that it is never quite so easy to make your number one dream, big or small, light or heavy, a reality. Too much hard work and grinding bones have gone into this for their success to have roots in the snaps of fingers and blinks of an eye, to be entirely by chance or luck.

The world has not been easy on them, and it most certainly shall never be - Yunho accepts that, dances pirouette after pirouette, attempts a jump here and a roll there, lilts and screams and sings his way forwards - the package on his back, the weight on his arms carry themselves along, hefty and painful, though bearable for the better part of his existence. Happiness, family, the idea and execution of pursuing his sole passion with those he has come to call his brothers, has come to call his companions chosen by the universe, star-crossed and intertwined in both hands and heart.

Yunho likes to think that their bond can last through anything.

And when he doubts, he knows there is a soul in connection with him, should he just turn his head and find the warm smiles, radiating the same easiness and all-encompassing reassurance that a gentle summer's day brings. It is a breeze, cool against the pearls collecting on your forehead, the trip to the sea and the salt on your tongue, all of which spark a quiet familiarity Yunho would not want to miss in his life, not ever.

There are some things worthy of frustration, however; such as the experience of living together with seven other barely adult, rather disastrous human beings, with priorities other than keeping their living environment nice and clean at all times. It is bound to allow for some tensions from time to time, especially with their rooming situation in and of itself.

Ah, you see, the rooming situation.

Their days start at sunrise, start with birds singing in that park nearby and the shift change of the workers at the convenience store down the street. On quiet mornings - if they can manage those, if luck is on their side and even the loudest are powerless against a spring morning’s gentle yet insistent need to let the world wake up second by excruciating second - they sit and use this rare opening of time to stare out of the window and breathe, before the day shall have them stretch the limits of their lungs and improve on their stamina, both physical and mental. Their hearts yet beat in anticipation, but it is dulled, in those few instances, precious like diamonds small enough to fit neatly between your fingers.

Their days end sometime after the sun has set, late, even later should you work until even your spirit gets exhausted, as much as they are relieved through the occasional leisurely activity. And, well, Yunho has played witness to several methods of stress relief over those two years he has been part of this exceptional group of people he is rooming with.

There is Seonghwa, of course, who spends most of his evenings in the living room, a drama playing on the television with a volume so low, Yunho has quickly figured out he is but seeking for some ambient background noise to doze off to - he sits in the center of the stage when Hongjoong returns from his own adventurous late nights and early mornings, makes sure Hongjoong realizes that he has someone waiting for him, someone who wishes for company, and the ability to turn a bigger volume on the drama he is watching.

Then there are Jongho and Yeosang, in their recent quest to annihilate any and every opponent in their online video games, or even just each other, an act that has gotten near absurd to watch on - San joins them, now and again, and Yunho, too, should he find himself in the mood. Jongho has even gone so far as to make his commitment to his gamer bond with Yeosang clear through a move into his and Wooyoung’s room. It has left an empty void in the room he used to share with Mingi, an even greater hole in Mingi’s heart and soul, though a gamer must do what a gamer must do. Jongho cannot be held accountable for all of the heartbreaks he may or may not be responsible for, especially with people so fragile of heart as Mingi, who pretend to be victims of betrayal of the highest sort.

For all that Mingi has wept after the traitor leaving him all alone, the recovery of their broken relationship had commenced quite quickly - soon enough, Jongho started stealing Mingi’s Airpods before he left the company buildings, all in an effort to force Mingi’s return to their homes before the clock had any chance to pass two in the morning.

For that is Mingi’s de-stressor, on most days. In spite of newfound privacy in a room entirely his own, Mingi still chooses to spend the free hours in a day to pursue his overflowing creativity. All within his right, of course - Mingi’s abilities extend far beyond the lyrical design of their beats and melodies, far beyond his unique and refreshing style of rapping, go even further until it feels as though his innovations may stop time, or slow it down at the very least. They crawl beneath your skin within the blink of an eye and fill your veins with so much pure, potent fuel, you feel as though you are fast as light, master of time and space and so much more.

Yunho has the privilege of catching bits and pieces, glimpses and small glances into the life of a magician, for he passes Mingi’s studio on his way home, just to check on him - Yunho has given up in his attempts to drag Mingi out of that damned chair and back to their dorms with him, only reminds Mingi to stop slumping and sit up straight, and to take breaks from time to time to rest his eyes and his soul. In return, Mingi does not give him promises he cannot keep, and Yunho appreciates his honesty, above all.

In the end, Yunho values his own free time just as much, uses it to catch up on sleep he has pushed even further back to be up to par and where he needs to be, and thus, this is where the main problem of their rooming situation unfolds.

Once upon a time, one Jung Wooyoung had been cheeky enough to send off a disgruntled but compliant Yeosang whenever one Choi San would enter with all of his bravado even after a day’s worth of shootings or dance practices. Yunho has never minded Yeosang’s presence in the room he shares with San, and it was an arrangement they were much used to ever since Wooyoung and San had become thick as thieves and wound together around the waist.

Ever since Jongho has moved in with Yeosang and Wooyoung though, much resistance is being put up, where, in the end, neither Jongho nor Yeosang will budge whenever Wooyoung finds himself and his boyfriend in the mood for some private time. It is a tragedy of two lovers, loud and whiny and annoying, and yet, Jongho finds a way to chase them out so he and Yeosang can have their own rare kind of peace once upon a day.

Wooyoung and San do tend to make some scenes for a short while afterwards, mostly for their own short-lived entertainment, until they occupy San and Yunho’s room instead.

If Yunho wanted to, he could probably sleep through an earthquake - sharing a limited, small space with two very boisterous personalities oftentimes ends up feeling the exact same way, as laughter shakes at him from afar, sound waves rattling his entire body as it craves for no more than a few more hours of rest. Yunho has gotten used to a lot of antics - even the occasional make out session and groping under blankets he chooses not to see. They are, in the subtlest of manners, somewhat exhibitionist, and not necessarily in a sexual sense, but - to Yunho’s immense gratitude - they do warn him of any further action should they plan for it, ask if Yunho would be okay with leaving the room for a bit, which he usually is, because Yunho is too nice to kick them out like Jongho does.

And tonight; tonight is no different, really, except San and Wooyoung just babble at each other, throw mindless quips around and laughter right after them, and they are quieter than they normally are, for they see the exhaustion compiled into bags under Yunho’s eyes and decide to take pity on him, just this once.

And, just this once, Yunho has close to no patience for this, the never-ending exchange of giggles and muffled screams, what with sleep having been an issue of difficult execution in the past weeks of comeback preparation.

Yunho rises from his bed after another toss, another turn, when it all becomes too much, and gathers his pillow close to his chest, waddling out of the room with eyes barely opened.

“I’ll go sleep in Mingi’s room,” Yunho mumbles as an explanation when San’s confusion dares to begin its questioning, and all Yunho hears in return is, “Does that mean Woo and I can make out?”

Yunho closes the door behind him before his brain chooses to formulate a reply.

Mingi’s room is the epitome of privacy, truly - Mingi has forbidden entrance to anyone who chooses to exploit Mingi’s generosity for their dirty business, has even made a makeshift stop sign out of paper to explicitly tell a certain couple in the group to _keep out_ or else they should fear consequences for defiling his most precious possession: a single bed, no bunk, wide enough to fit Mingi comfortably even if he sprawled out to his pleasure.

Yunho believes them to be of an unspoken agreement that he, Jeong Yunho, as Mingi’s number one best friend and confidant, has the privilege of using it at his leisure as well, whenever Mingi is not around to either object or welcome him. After all, all Yunho wishes for are some good, restful hours of sleep, a prolonged nap, until Mingi wakes him at two in the morning and chases him out, back into a room where the chatty couple has gone quiet or separated entirely. He will reason with Mingi come the arrival of the next day, knowing Mingi will settle for a fair share of affections - which Yunho shall also find much benefit from - and a generous meal at lunchtime, as a sign of Yunho’s gratitude.

And so, Yunho lets himself fall on top of the cushions, pillow still held tightly and firmly as though it were an actual person to grasp onto for comfort, burying his nose into Mingi’s freshly-washed sheets. The scent of him, of Mingi, so sweet yet musky, mixes in with the flowers clinging onto the stark white pillow case, and hence, engulfed in a bubble of all of his favorites, Yunho falls asleep easily, instantly.

Slumber greets him without a dream, but wakefulness has some surprises for him yet.

Some two hours, or perhaps half an eternity later, and Mingi grumbles at his sleeping frame, demands for him to, “move over, intruder,” and shakes his shoulder to catch Yunho in the world of the living.

Except.

The world of the living?

Oh, it has fallen off its axis, and no matter how much Yunho blinks at Mingi, attempts to understand why the intensity of Mingi’s gaze alone is sending shivers down his spine, Yunho does not know how to tip it back into balance.

It is disorienting.

“What?” Yunho rasps out, still lost, so lost, pulling at strings even though his world is currently falling apart at the seams, into an uncoordinated mess of the bittersweetness of an interrupted nap and the remnants of a dream Yunho cannot remember having - creatures of the night let loose for Mingi’s deep, brown eyes on him.

“I said move over, you loser, I wanna sleep,” Mingi murmurs, pushing at Yunho with half a heart and dreadful fatigue in his lack of force. Mingi has already changed into shorts and a shirt with holes, ready to throw himself into the abyss Yunho is currently blocking him from entering.

Yunho is far too tired to reason with himself that sharing a bed with Mingi, even as spacious as this one, is too much of a bad idea, no matter how many times they have done so over their five years of close friendship.

He scoots over.

Mingi falls into his arms and wraps his own around Yunho’s torso.

“San and Woo too loud?” Mingi asks, voice a blur more than anything, already on the cusp of sleep. Yunho hums in affirmation, eyes falling shut.

And well. That is that.

Yunho goes about his days with a positive attitude, with butterflies dancing in his stomach as a precaution. A cheerful disposition can do so much in a routine of monotony, can be the ray of sunshine others may need as guidance - Yunho flourishes at the task, in a quiet, unconscious manner, gives his family a happy place even when they are unaware of their need for it.

He is awed at any opportunity given to him, has been for the entirety of his youth from the moment he had entered the dance academy, met the best friend he could have ever asked for, and jump started a life which appears out of a dream more often than not. The least he can do is appreciate it, taste every last drop of it, relish in the accomplishments they bring on with the privilege granted to them.

What strikes him as most important, though, even years after a successful professional training, is to allow yourself some room to grow and rest, even as you constantly improve and improve, practice perfection from dawn till dusk and longer still.

Recognizing your limits - time, strength, focus - is the hardest challenge to teach yourself along the way, as you tend to seek a result at the end of the day, but do not always receive the outcome you would have wished for at the very start of it. For it is all too easy to let rain drizzle on your sunny disposition, to let doubt cloud your mind when your body is working against you on that one evening, ignorant of all prior successes. 

Over the years, Yunho is glad to have learned to realize when he has had enough for one day, as late as it ends - he defies his own careful construction of a plan in favor of several steps back, because he knows that - as far and few in between as they are - even Yunho has off days where his bones are heavier, longer, and he is not the boss of them any longer. His muscles become sluggish, near non-existent in their attempts to taunt him from the afterlife, so he slumps down against mirrors of deserted practice rooms at midnight, and declares himself a hero for making the attempt in the first place. A pat on his own shoulder, he allows, grinning to himself in the comfortable silence as the song fizzles out, the preparation for an upcoming solo dance cover forgotten.

Yunho thinks that, all things considered, he is doing exceptionally well for himself. He never pushes, not with himself, not with others, and though he acknowledges pressure like anyone of sound mind and body, he treats it as an acquaintance, a person he can say no to from time to time - he is aware that this is not an easy feat, not by a long shot. He wishes it were so, that you could shield yourself from the unwanted oversight of a glaring supervisor, but it is not part of their job description.

But Yunho cannot look on as the process of baring every bit of yourself gnaws at every fiber of your being, if you let it sit and simmer for too long. It steals from you, it robs you, day by day by day, of the creativity which has fueled you to pursue your dream in the first place. And creativity, above all, is a human’s greatest good, something precious and intimate. All Yunho is trying to accomplish, really, is not to let go of it prematurely.

So, he stops when passion resumes to become a drag and returns home to find distraction, starting anew on another day.

It is a system not of his own invention - but it works for him, though he must admit that it is always a certain difficulty to stand up from his position against the mirror, and truly take the car home, instead of maybe, just maybe, giving the source of his frustration just _one more try_.

Tonight, he does not listen to that voice deep inside him and exits the practice rooms in a matter of minutes. Two floors up, Yunho knows he would find two restless producers working until the early morning hours, but he decides against an impromptu visit to rush home and take his shower, curl himself into a little ball in his warm sheets and sleep until the welcoming Sunday morning sun will wake him, instead of the shrill alarm on his phone.

There is a problem with that resolution, however; one he finds to be his own fault as soon as he arrives into the silence of the dorm, a snoring Seonghwa on the sofa in the living room his only greeting. As Yunho makes quick strides towards his own room, hesitation builds and builds the closer he gets, for sounds rather unceremonious echo through the physical obstacle between him and sanctuary much longed for after exhaustion has hit him like a brick.

The problem - two of them, once again - is currently engaging in admittedly quiet, respectful intercourse on the bottom of a bunk Yunho very much _knows_ to be his own bed. Exhaustion makes way for anger, anger then passing the cards towards annoyance, before it ultimately ends at the realization of his own mistakes.

Had he not announced to stay at the dance studio until late, and had he not decided to interrupt his sad attempts at memorizing complex choreography earlier than he intended, then perhaps, his roommate would not have taken the liberty to seduce his boyfriend in Yunho’s absence. Really, San has been very considerate thus far, so this—for this, Yunho alone is to blame.

This is how Yunho ends up in Mingi’s room for the second time within the span of a week - steals a towel from his closet too, while he cannot access his own, and spends the better part of an hour after his shower playing silly games on his phone, waiting for the telltale sign of a door opening and closing as Wooyoung leaves the room for a late shower as soon as they are done.

Except, Yunho’s waiting is an endless period of agony, as he rolls around Mingi’s bed with Airpods in his ears and groans into Mingi’s pillow, because dear God, why are they suddenly so _loud_ —

“Phew, they are really going at it, this time, aren’t they?”

Yunho releases some hot air, blinking up at Mingi, who does not seem fazed in the slightest, neither by the disturbance of their neighbors, nor the surprise house guest he must currently entertain against his will.

“Want me to go over there and break up the party?” Mingi grins, like a man of madness whose pleasures in life consist solely of embarrassing others, which would not be an impression too far of the radar if Yunho is being honest.

It brings a smile on Yunho’s tired face. “No, no need for that,” Yunho says, and he means it. “We don’t always have the chance to sleep in, just let them have some fun.”

Mingi snorts in response, nose scrunching up cutely. “Oh, I get it, I get it,” Mingi says, nodding as he feigns his understanding of San and Wooyoung’s predicament and their lack of precious moments of togetherness. He slumps down on his bed, next to Yunho’s legs still spread out, and Yunho spots the exact instance in which a glint finds its way into Mingi’s eyes, and the drive to do something very stupid and uncalled for unfolds within the expanse of Mingi’s irises, like a vine raking itself through an abandoned building, slowly but surely unfurling to bring its demise.

Yunho’s hand does not fly up fast enough to cover Mingi’s mouth before it releases the most indecent, horrid response to their roommates’ sexual escapades possible: a lewd, obscene, drawn-out _moan_.

“Oh, Yunho, baby, please _more_ ,” Mingi all but yells, dramatic in this inappropriate exclamation and very much into the role he is attempting to play. His hands have a strong grip on Yunho’s lower legs, leaning his entire body weight on them to hold Yunho in his place as he struggles. “Yes, yes, _Yunho_ , just like tha—”

“Shut up! Oh my God,” Yunho screams in agony, unable to truly process the words his poor ears had to witness, not to mention their dorm as a whole. His cheeks are aflame, the flush gathering in the nape of his neck and making him boiling hot all over, as his eyes jump to the door and back to Mingi as if expecting Seonghwa to reprimand them any second. “What was that for?” Yunho whispers as loudly as he dares.

“Well, you said I should let them have some fun,” Mingi replies, as though that explains everything. Yunho is as helpless as he had been before Mingi had come back, but at least back then, he held onto the foolish hope that Mingi’s return would make his unbearable wait a tolerable pastime.

His dissatisfaction with Mingi’s answer must show on his face - the extent to which he is puzzled and flustered and overall uncomfortable - because Mingi ventures out to continue, “They’re loud as fuck, too, why shouldn’t we be?”

“Because we’re not having sex?!” Yunho all but yells back, utterly flabbergasted at his best friend and his strangely particular behavior tonight, to which Mingi only gives a disinterested shrug, “Ah, semantics.”

“You’re impossible, don’t do that again,” Yunho demands, “please, if you value my sanity, I beg you.”

“Fine,” Mingi drawls, and the roll of his eyes is a personal offense to Yunho, who firmly believes he has been the one wronged in this situation. But of course, how dare he stand in the way of Mingi’s amusement? His best friend card must have been revoked just now, judging by the pout decidedly placed on Mingi’s face. Yunho would almost believe Mingi would remain tame for the remainder of their night, but the resurfacing of Mingi’s smirk prefers to tell a different story, much to Yunho’s continued chagrin. It does not help that the actual moaning from the other room still has not subsided, the occasional sprinkles of dirty talk worsening Yunho’s entire night.

“You sure you don’t want me to go over there?” He winks at Yunho, deepening the already rather potent rosy color on Yunho’s cheeks. “You know I have no shame.”

Now, Mingi does indulge in the occasional lie, mostly for other people’s entertainment when it is very obvious he bypasses the truth - this time, however, Yunho has no doubts of Mingi’s sincerity.

“Clearly,” Yunho pronounces, giving Mingi’s arm a light punch to make him release Yunho’s legs. The whimper of pain is deserved, though Yunho is a creature incapable of mercilessness, especially when it comes to Mingi, so he gives gentle rubs to the afflicted area, as a sign of peace. “But it’s fine. I’ll uh, I guess I’ll just stay here for a while. If you don’t mind.”

“Sure, buddy,” Mingi says and lies down beside Yunho, “What else are you gonna do? Seonghwa’s out of commission, I’m the only viable option right now—” he taps his finger against his chin, eyes crawling up the ceiling, as if in deep consideration. Yunho fears the result of that process— “Bet he wouldn’t moan like that for you.”

Mingi’s chivalrous act - as it appears to Mingi’s worldview, exclusively - leaves Yunho’s own state of affairs, particularly those of his regular bodily functions, in a chaos of disorientation and unwanted speed, as though the blood runs faster and Yunho is inclined to follow. The casual air, the manner in which Mingi remains as he is and was and always will be a frightening contrast to the effect those few simple sounds evoked in Yunho.

Except there is nothing quite so simple about them, and Yunho’s options _did_ consist of more than just holing himself up in Mingi’s room. He could have woken up Seonghwa, watched a drama with him to drown out the noise in the back of the hallway, he could have joined Jongho and Yeosang in their room to participate in their game, he could have occupied Hongjoong’s bed and texted him to consider sleeping at the studio - he would have understood, he did so at least twice a week. Instead, Yunho has resisted lying to himself and never truly considered these ideas as ones to be executed.

If Yunho finds peace in anything, anyone, then it is Mingi, above all, before all, most tragically so.

And thus, the world pushes Yunho off his own carefully attuned axis, but Mingi is the one to pull him back, curiously enough, even as Yunho sputters himself through a response.

“I—”

“All I’m saying is, that life’s a competition, and you always wanna make sure you’re the winner,” Mingi goes on, nodding to himself, as if this piece of wisdom has given him the enlightenment needed to become a scholar, or a philosopher perhaps, in the next life or the one after that. This, of course, completely disregards the fact that Mingi’s newly discovered inspiration has its roots in the moans of their friends and a self-serving, fruitless attempt to assert dominance over the sound level of their dorms.

Yunho supposes they will not ask how you come by knowledge when they weigh your options in the afterlife, so Mingi is in luck, just this once.

“My best friend,” Yunho coos, none-too-sarcastically, feeling brave as he leans in closer to squish Mingi’s cheeks between two fingers, “whatever would I do without you defending my honor.”

Mingi preens at the attention, though in an unexpected turn of events, his face falls back to seriousness in a matter of seconds as soon as Yunho lets go of him. “You’re just being too nice, Yunho. This must be like, their fifth round, I think you’re allowed to complain a little.”

“It’s not like they do it on purpose,” Yunho says, meek, since he knows the argument is weak at best. “I did say I was going to stay out most of the night.”

“Well, plans obviously changed, the least you could have done is send them a text or knock at the door or something,” Mingi suggests. “But I guess you just wanted to spend some quality time with good old Mingles instead.”

Mingi cannot know just how much he has hit the metaphorical nail on the head with this one, cannot know that he has caught Yunho’s deepest, unnamed desire for his best friend red-handed, and Yunho is glad that the years of denial to himself have proven a practice worth the while, for the concealment of his true feelings to the outside world is now but a second nature to him.

The soft, fond, little smile, though; Yunho does not want to obscure its candor. “You got me,” he agrees, holding his hands up into the air in surrender. “Anyway, did you get a lot of work done tonight?”

As Mingi sets out to speak of his complaints about Jongho stealing his Airpods _yet again_ , Yunho lets the affection for his best friend roll all over him, until he is reduced to no more than a grinning idiot lying beside Mingi. 

At some point down the line, thirty minutes or so spent in amicable silence with only music on their ears, Yunho has started to drift off to sleep, dozing as Mingi types away on his phone. It feels as though the world is right again, and their roommates’ hunger sated for the night, when all of a sudden—

“Oh God, _Choi San_!”

Yunho startles awake and all but falls off the bed.

That is quite enough for tonight, Yunho decides. He has had it and must exact his revenge.

So, with Mingi’s laughter ringing in the background, Yunho sits up and growls at the top of his lungs, “Oh God, _Song Mingi_!” in a picture-perfect mockery of Wooyoung. Mingi starts screaming in delight.

“If you people don’t shut up already, I will destroy everything you love and steal all of your lunches tomorrow,” Jongho yells back through the wall, several rooms over, with as much anger as you would expect from the sleep-deprived menace hidden inside his small body.

Yunho only falls back onto the bed, knocking his head with Mingi in the process and unintentionally sparking even more of those bright giggles that might get them their lunches revoked come midday.

Yunho finds that he does not care; not in the slightest.

  
  


To Yunho, Mingi is an entire universe - always expanding, always into Yunho’s horizon, in a slow, dragging process over years and years on end, yet unstoppable to the point of calling for Yunho’s surrender. Yunho cannot do anything about its pace, nor the extent to which Mingi is taking over his entire heart, his entire soul, before Yunho shall have to raise a white flag and just let himself be at Mingi’s full, ruthless mercy.

If Yunho gives it enough thought, on a good day, he knows Mingi would let him down gently, softly, like a leaf falling from the tree in a silent autumn breeze. There would be no hard feelings whatsoever; just the simple rejection Yunho tends to envision, an awkward period of avoidance perhaps, yes, as they try and get used to being best friends while Yunho attempts to get over his—well, to call it a crush would be rather redundant, if you asked Yunho. Were it a crush, then perhaps, Yunho would have already found a way to get over it.

No.

Just as Mingi’s presence is a force to be reckoned with, a universe in comparison to his meagre existence as a strange tall man on planet Earth, the love he has felt for Mingi, too, has taken over his mind and body, taking more and more every day of every year.

Yunho is bracing himself, for ridicule. Be it disguised as friendly teasing between himself and his members, or worse, at the hands of all of those gossip sites on the internet who might expose him as the sad, helpless gay man that he is any minute now.

There is no real threat of that happening, though, not with how careful Yunho has always been; he may be unlucky in love, but he is not stupid enough to let it be seen, not in front of anyone else but San and his mother, both of whom he owes infinite gratitude for keeping his secret even before one of their closest friends and a self-described future son-in-law. Yunho has been embarrassed by his mother on this topic countless of times, the price he has to pay for his limitless honesty to her, but he has always admired her steadfast belief that Mingi could even feel a fraction of what Yunho feels for him in return.

Yunho is happy as he is, truly - everything he does, everything he knows, he has earned through hard work and discipline, the occasional luck, the well-timed initiative, and a lot of help from his two families. His life will not find its end should Mingi not reciprocate the warmth in Yunho’s stomach at the sight of Mingi’s gorgeous face, at the sound of his deep, rich voice that puts him under a spell, reassurance served on a silver platter.

And yet, Yunho is scared of how close he has come to pushing order into chaos, how many reckless hiccups he allows to happen in their private moments together, and he thinks that—any minute now, he shall fail the test. That the devil lurks within the shadows, fletching his teeth in hunger for Yunho’s inevitable misery.

He dwells not on the thought, for he shall only shoot himself in the foot if he does.

Yunho treasures the universe, holds it in his hands whenever he can, so maybe, he shall develop a thick skin to survive it, until nothing gets through any longer - no treacherous feeling of romantic love, only the comfortable nature of the friendship he has held dear for forever.

And nothing must appear out of the ordinary - behavior unfit to his personality or the way he acts with and around Mingi is like the sole light in a dark tunnel, the scream in a quiet hallway. It sells you out, brings heaps of attention upon your person, and surely enough, Mingi will soon figure out Yunho’s secret all by himself - and in the worst of cases, as unlikely as Yunho imagines its occurrence, resent him for it.

Yunho practices caution, excels at it, but he is aware that it only takes one spark to light the fire, burning everything to the ground until he stands in the midst of nothing but ashes, of debris, of the product of his own recklessness. Fire is a tough opponent, as you can yell and spit and scream at it, though it does not go out until you extinguish it with something else entirely, and try as you might, you can never return to your previous state of being, to the world without its flames, and you shall forever be changed, irreparably so.

Yunho is not too fond of being burned.

When Mingi asks him to hang out in his room one night, it would be rather suspicious of Yunho to decline the offer. Especially when San has been eyeing him all evening, still a bit butthurt after the scolding he had received from Seonghwa for being so indecent the other day, and yet not less desiring of any and every private time he and Wooyoung can get. Yunho’s masterful expertise of the puppy eyes are not his unique trait alone, for San is quite the skillful apprentice.

And Yunho is simply too nice to say no to either of his brothers.

There is an odd, heavy weight in Yunho’s stomach, one that has not made its presence known since the fateful day Yunho had finally allowed his true feelings for Mingi to be a part of his life, for the sake of his own long-suffering sanity - whether they are back to speak a taunt or a warning to Yunho, he does not know. Over the course of the time spent with Mingi, it decides to remain a growling companion, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and a tingling sensation in his fingers.

It does not surprise Yunho that it only happens whenever he reaches for something he wants but cannot have.

He realizes it is neither taunt nor warning; but much-awaited punishment. The reminder that the line between them, it has already been crossed by his inconsideration years ago.

Superstition sits in all of him, in spite of rationality being a fine, strong opponent; Yunho’s awareness of the dread in his entire body does not make the evening too enjoyable, and he wonders if he shall turn it sour for Mingi as well, or if he can stop disaster from unfolding before it can take the form of a shadow monster ripping their hearts out of their chests to feed on past happiness.

His tendencies towards overdramatizing a situation may remain insignificant in comparison to Mingi’s, but Yunho cannot shake the uncomfortable feeling that they are being watched by a malicious entity, who seeks to bring them harm on this specific night.

It does not take a detective to find out that it affects Yunho visibly. The way he hunches in on himself, hands clutching over his stomach as he curls into Mingi’s pillow is telling enough. Mingi even stops the recounting of his story and his progress with Eden on his self-produced track for the upcoming mixtape.

They are where they always seem to end up together these days; in Mingi’s bed, side by side, legs touching and closely knit, so Yunho sees Mingi’s face some thirty centimeters away from his - a good guess; if Yunho could, he would definitely measure the distance between them to bearable perfection - and watches as Mingi gnaws on his lips in his deliberations. Mingi’s perception is limitless, Yunho knows - it is a certainty, a universal constant, that Mingi shall pick up on any distress troubling Yunho. Even when he is the very cause of its creation.

For now, Mingi is debating if he should talk to Yunho about it.

“You can ask, you know,” Yunho decides to help him on his way, smile a little dull and a little painful, but he manages.

“You just seem a bit off tonight,” Mingi starts, “You feeling okay? Am I boring you? You can tell me if I’m boring you!”

“You’re not boring me, Mingi, that’s nonsense,” Yunho swears, “I—” Yunho’s stomach chooses this moment to act up, a sharp pain like needles on his insides, and he winces before he can hide it from Mingi - who, naturally, the kind, caring soul that he is, all but explodes with his concern.

“Yunho, God, are you okay? Are you sick? What—”

“Everything is fine, don’t worry,” Yunho hurries to add and sits up to prove that he is yet in control of his body, but Mingi follows him, only to push him down into his prior horizontal position again. “Seriously, Mingi, I’m fine, it’s just a minor stomach ache, nothing to worry about.”

Mingi’s brow furrows more deeply, a question visible in every line in his frown, “A stomach ache?” He repeats, under his breath, as if mulling the words over in his mind. “But we had the same dinner, not for the first time either, it couldn’t have been the food, could it?”

Yunho shakes his head, “No, no, I just-honestly, I think I might be imagining it. Maybe it’s the stress or something. I’m sure it’ll be gone by tomorrow morning.”

And Mingi regards him with so much intensity, Yunho withers away underneath his stare; it feels as though Mingi is scanning his face for signs of the truth, aware that this is everything but a simple stomach bug, and Yunho is so, so used to being stared at like that, it should no longer worry him - he knows Mingi, he knows Mingi cannot see through his feelings for him, the sole secret Yunho reserves to keep for himself while everything else lays there out in the open for Mingi.

Yunho thinks he might have progressed to losing it entirely when Mingi leans down, closer to him, as if in need of a deeper, more thorough examination of his patient before he can profess his sincere diagnosis. What Mingi shall find once he has come down onto Yunho’s level, is a shortness of breath, the irregular, rapid beating of a heart that craves freedom from the confines of Yunho’s chest and a fever making him sweat and his hair stick to his skin.

Mingi’s big, gentle hand presses against Yunho’s forehead not a second later, as Yunho attempts to regain his focus with Mingi’s proximity blocking all of his senses without shame, care or the ideas of boundaries.

Between them, none are set, and of course Mingi assumes he can be as close to Yunho as he wishes to, because Yunho is granted the same honor - within the reasonable bounds of friendship set by societal expectations. Neither of them used to believe those held much importance, not between the group they think of as family, and especially not between the two of them specifically, and yet.

And yet, Yunho is pinned underneath Mingi’s body, not for Mingi leaving him no more room to breathe, but for his own fear of the loss of his bearings when Mingi robs him of all reason.

“Yunho? Hey, Yunho!” Mingi’s left hand has fallen off his face, settled against his shoulder in a mirroring fashion to his right one. “Hey don’t zone out on me, please.”

“Sorry,” Yunho blinks up at him, realizing with terror that through all of his internal panic, he was spoken to the entire time. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

He watches Mingi swallow, his Adam’s apple bop. Averts his eyes with red cheeks.

Then, Mingi says, “Well, I was just thinking aloud, really. ‘Cause, you see, when I was a kid, my mama used to give me belly rubs to, uh, make the pain go away.”

“Oh,” Yunho offers. “And...?”

“I can give you belly rubs, too,” Mingi supplies, drawing away just a fraction, as his cheeks are dusted with little sprinkles of pink before they dip fully into the pretty color. If Yunho were not as distracted by - oh, huh, _everything_ \- he would admire it, perhaps even reach out to see what it feels like underneath his fingertips. He does not give into his desires, for even the darkest demon must have some sympathy left for Yunho.

“If you want to, that is,” Mingi adds, bashful in the low rumbling of his voice, and Yunho shivers, despite feeling hot in all of the wrong places. “I could also see if we have some of that tea left your mom sent you, or we could just call a doct—”

“No!” Yunho interrupts, “No, I think—I think when Mama Song used to do this to you... I suppose it is worth a try, right?”

And if Yunho sounds uncertain, Mingi definitely chooses not to hear, “Right!”

“So, how do we do this?”

Like the fools they are, is the only valid answer to that question.

Mingi treats him as a nobleman, careful not to break him, leave no dent in his already compromised state, so with the utmost attention, Mingi retrieves a blanket from the cupboards underneath his bed and throws it around Yunho’s body, transforming the heat into unbearable madness.

“Mingi, it’s so warm out already,” Yunho whines, despite himself.

“Turn onto your side please,” Mingi returns as he lies back down, onto his side so he can align his chest with Yunho’s back and—oh, Yunho sees where this is supposed to be going. Whenever they do end up in this position, exchanging cuddles when they can allow for a short nap, it is usually Yunho who embraces Mingi, not the other way around. The feeling is not foreign, nor unwanted, all it takes is some getting used to.

Yunho startles when Mingi’s fingers dive underneath the blanket, swallowed by the weight of the cloth, and crawl towards his stomach to lie flat against it.

The sensation is all but too much, burning against his flesh even through the thin fabric of his shirt. When Mingi’s hand starts moving in circular motions, and Mingi’s breath fans against his ears as he tells Yunho to, “relax, it’s just me,” Yunho heaves a sigh so deep, it could be compared to a full body shudder.

It is a wonder to Yunho how Mingi could be the bane of his existence and the light of his life, all at the same time. The dread and the happiness, the pain and the balm.

His dream and his nightmare.

No.

Not a single soul on this planet, least of all Yunho, should even think about declaring Song Mingi anything but what he truly is; the kindest person you shall ever meet in your whole life.

Song Mingi is selfless, though he will often claim the opposite; and yet he shall lay aside his own tiresome troubles and his heavy schedules to make a space for you, best suited for you, where you are welcomed warmly anytime, and without the shadow of a doubt.

To Yunho, he has offered his room, his bed and now his very arms to secure him, in hopes of curing the incurable.

Yunho loves him so much.

“Mingi?”

“Yeah?”

Yunho hesitates; dark eyes are watching him. He laughs at them, before he laces his fingers with Mingi’s over his stomach, stilling the soothing movement.

“Thank you.”

Mingi is consistent with warmth against him, the smile against the nape of his neck, the whisper in his ear asking, “Is it helping?”

“You have no idea how much,” Yunho replies, as the shadowy entity huffs its annoyance, only to vanish into thin air the next instant. A spiteful farewell Yunho pays no further attention to. And now that Yunho does not have to be on the lookout for danger any longer, he lets his eyes fall shut, disappears into the safety of Mingi’s personal bubble, and he wonders what had made him worry in the first place.

It is no sensational thing; falling asleep in the arms of your best friend, that is. Not a one-time occurrence either, not for them. It is the third time within two weeks, and Yunho believes that he might as well get used to spending his nights like this.

Having Song Mingi close but never quite close enough is a punishment yet in full development, Yunho has found - Yunho thinks that every day of his life is a test, that every day, he receives a new program to try out, each one more difficult to bear than the one before. Loving Mingi from afar, even while they are as close physically as humanly possible, loving him quietly, even as they are screaming with all of their might, it all feels like a never-ending trial run, one that either deems Yunho successful at the end of the day, or ends the game if he is revealed to be a failure.

For now, Yunho gets to prove himself another day.

Dreams are real until you wake up.

No matter how absurd of a scenario your subconscious cooks up, you shall be at the mercy of your own creations, a chess figure to be played without you having much say in what may be the right or the wrong moves.

Yunho wakes—Yunho wakes, in Mingi’s arms, and he stirs so much that it awakens his partner, too, who grumbles and moans in his distaste for wakefulness. Yunho turns around within his hold, eyes still firmly closed in defiance of the morning sun coming in through the windows, and he draws closer to Mingi so their noses brush. A natural pull he finds himself incapable of resisting.

The touch alone makes Yunho break out into a contented smile, lazy and tired.

It also gives him the proper insight on the situation to know that he is currently living in a dream.

The awareness brings nothing worthwhile. 

Though Yunho knows that, as much as it tortures him, he should enjoy the peaceful scene his mind has painted him for as long as he can, bask in the rays of sunshine that gift a different kind of warmth to feel comfortable.

Mingi’s fingers dance across his cheeks, then, the sensation felt deep within the dreamer’s heart, and Yunho’s grin widens until it reaches Mingi’s hand, dimples falling right underneath his gentle palm’s exploration. It feels nice, to be worshipped like this when no one else is watching, and it is just the two of them together, as it has always been, always should be - at least, if Yunho had his way, and Mingi reciprocated his feelings, if dream became reality.

“You’re so beautiful,” Mingi whispers between them, and it sounds like his own intimate confession meant for Yunho’s ears only, a special sort of present to greet the day.

It is only in his dreams that Yunho even dares to let himself be loved like this.

When Yunho - or Mingi, or both, he cannot be too sure, it is all obscured - dives in for a kiss, his heart jumps off the cliff, landing in the oceans of his stomach where the dread had been on the night before, and yet all it does is spread fire within his veins.

Never in a million dreams of these moments has kissing Song Mingi felt like being revived from a cold, unfulfilling existence, into a warm-blooded, exciting life with Mingi all to himself.

Yunho feels like boiling water, the scorching heat allowing for blood to run furiously, uncontrollably, until their kisses gain a sense of urgency, a sense of passion that has the blood rush straight to Yunho’s groin. He hears sighs, groans, the occasional laugh as their hands begin to roam, and dear _God_ , Yunho loves these dreams, loves the heat, the warmth, the—

A knock sounds at the door, loud, insistent, the tiny fist of a man of immeasurable greatness calling with too much exasperation for such a quiet morning, “Hey, you two, wake up, we’re almost late for the recording!”

Hongjoong’s steps resemble the stomping of a large animal as he checks the other rooms and leaves Yunho and Mingi to their own once again.

Yunho is not quite ready to open his eyes and let go of this dream, this wonderful, ethereal dream he has had, and yet he must, for duty calls in the form of a man whose wrath is easily underestimated, and Yunho is not eager to be at its end.

So Yunho gives into his fate, begrudgingly, and opens his eyes, only to find himself right above Mingi, hovering just a nose length away, and gasps. In the exact same instant their gazes interlock - though not before Yunho’s takes an involuntary detour over Mingi’s lips in his confusion - the realization that what they had just done was _everything_ , though certainly not a product of dreams, shocks them apart. Yunho can recount each and every time he has fallen off Mingi’s bed - but this time is, by far and without a doubt, the worst one.

The entire experience appears to Yunho outside of his body, as he watches himself scramble to his feet, a little helpless, like a baby giraffe just new to this world, thus he stumbles, falls again, and yet he all attributes it once more to the earth losing its way and not himself lacking balance and a proper spine.

Mingi has not moved, the other side of this story, hands still raised to the air where he had held Yunho - where he had held Yunho’s face in his hands, like he was precious and valuable and the object of his affections - but he makes no attempts to stop Yunho, as he ultimately flees from the room to spare himself the impending rejection.

He encounters his demon in the hallway, jumps to the side and back again to avoid it feeding off his tears or his frustrations, and does not look at San as he enters his own room to continue on with his life as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

As if he had not just kissed the living daylights out of his best friend, thinking it was a dream to indulge in his pleasures innocently. Instead, he had gotten the bill of all these years spent in hiding, and Mingi was the one to pay for it, suffer for it.

What is he now, if not a man without his place in the universe, and no point of reference for his own simple, monotone, meaningless world?

  
  
  
  
  


For all of his wrongdoings, Yunho is the first person to call for a proper punishment. He knows an apology is in order, to try and establish their trusted normalcy after breaking it, and after the initial shock makes way for unforgiving, freezing cold regret, Yunho can think of nothing else.

Yet as eager - terrified - as he is to approach Mingi, it appears that the same cannot be said about him.

For Mingi, in two weeks after the incident, has not once let himself be approached by Yunho. In the first few days, Yunho had interpreted Mingi’s distance as the need for some space, for thought and reflection, but soon enough, Mingi’s avoidance is as intentional as painful.

Their schedules are no less filled, the outside world uncaring of a conflict between friends and shedding its spotlights on the idol grouping taking the country by storm, so Yunho is welcoming of most distractions the unceasing activity of their days provides.

It is almost too easy to pretend as though his heart was not shrinking in on itself in his chest, watching Mingi curl his fingers into a concentrated fist whenever he is stood next to Yunho - on accident, most of the time, an instinct guiding him to Yunho, cultivated throughout the last five years endlessly by his side. Defiance of an instinct is rebellion against your very nature, and Mingi is choosing to rebel openly, unable to stand Yunho’s presence even mere centimeters away from him.

Not a single glance is spared in his direction, no eyes meet his across the room like they usually do. Yunho supposes the sting aims to weaken him, make him see that what he did might even be unforgivable, and yet, Yunho is adamant not to give up, not to lose his best friend for a dreamy mistake, thus waits and practices patience, even though it runs thinner and thinner every day.

Anger is not an emotion Yunho will willingly indulge - he is not unfamiliar with it, not a soul in the world is innocent or unaffected by its clawing grips, but he prefers not to let it overshadow his voice of reason, for his own sake and those of his heart’s value. It is a feat of difficulty, then, not to fall victim to the irritation threatening to overtake him, as Yunho stares holes into Mingi’s head in practice rooms, at interviews, schedules and the like, or even the privacy of their dinner table, and have him return indifference with his bowed head and diverted gaze. In his foolishness, in his desperate want for any attention from his best friend, minuscule as it may be, Yunho almost wishes for a sign of Mingi’s hatred, a sign that Mingi cares enough to at least acknowledge Yunho’s existence as bothersome, infuriating, even revolting.

Although the prospect of Mingi despising him sits heavily on his shoulders, as though his demon has taken Mingi’s place to replace affectionate touches with a haunting clutch, Yunho ponders upon a life where Mingi’s regard for him is low, instead of non-existent. Yunho could hope to build himself up from that, regain Mingi’s trust and Mingi’s friendship, or at the very least an agreeable amiability to work together without creating an insufferable work environment for the others.

With the way his relationship with Mingi only seems to further deteriorate the longer Yunho waits for Mingi to come to him, Yunho decides, upon the two-week mark of Mingi’s avoidance being hit, that he has had _enough_.

Enough of Mingi going out of his way to stay even later at the studio, so Yunho will not even think about waiting up for him in his room like he has done before, with so much confidence and surety that it is almost laughable how much Yunho fears doing so now.

Enough of Mingi’s refusal to talk to the other members about this issue, if he cannot even bring himself to do so with the person he is supposed to.

Enough of himself acting like a coward in this, enough of hesitating to just come up to Mingi and demand an explanation for his distance, yell all of his apologies at him while he still can, hope for the best even as Mingi shall continue to ignore him.

Between the two of them, Mingi is usually the game master - the inventor of evil schemes, the executor of funny pranks on their leader, while Yunho much enjoys simply being along for the ride. For tonight, Yunho has planned his own connivery to force Mingi into a much-needed conversation, and he has employed Yeosang’s help to achieve the best possible results.

Besides Jongho, who - out of all of the other members - has thus far made the greatest attempts to get Mingi to talk, only Yeosang would be able to distract Mingi from possible intrigues against his person and not crack under the pressure of discovery. He has come to be Yunho’s choice solely for his lack of interest in resolving their issue by playing negotiator, and therefore, he would not make any moves to ask Mingi about his problems with Yunho. 

So, Yunho asks Yeosang to go to dinner with Mingi on their last day of recent promotions - paid for by Yunho’s hand, of course - under the guise of celebrating yet another successful, yet stressful era. It is not an odd occurrence, for Mingi and Yeosang do frequent several good restaurants down the road of their dorm building whenever their schedules allow it, and thus, as Yunho expects him to be, Mingi is delighted when Yeosang ultimately drops the question as they return home that night.

Mingi will be distracted, off guard, the moment he shall step foot into the dorm again, discovering Yunho in his room waiting for his return and the conversation he would not be able to escape this time around.

Perhaps it is a bit evil, pushing Mingi into cold waters after letting him enjoy the joyful summer’s sun; however, desperate times call for desperate measures, and if Yunho is anything, it is desperate.

Yunho has not accounted for the agony of the wait, though. From the moment Mingi and Yeosang leave - with Wooyoung in tow, who had snuck his way into their little adventure, clinging onto Yeosang’s arm as he tried to signal Yunho with his eyes that he would owe him more money - Yunho is restless, struck with sudden nerves, scribbling speech after speech into a notebook he doesn’t even believe to be of his own possessions, and he worries his lip until he has bitten it bloody.

For the first time in his life, he does not know how to talk to Mingi. 

After an hour passes - dreadfully slow like a snail in a marathon - Yunho prepares himself to go into position, just in case Yeosang shoots him the agreed upon signal, a text message, earlier than anticipated. Yet, when Yunho comes to stand before Mingi’s room, the sign to keep out unwanted intruders still in place, Yunho ends up hesitating, standing there like a fool, like a coward, indecisive and weak, after all.

He has stood here before, in the first week after his biggest mistake. Unmoving, he had been, even back then, and his confidence shrinks back down to the size of cells, though you might as well call it a carefully crafted illusion to keep his spine upright, if nothing else.

Yunho should stop kidding himself that this idea of his shall bear any fruits, any resolution to their conflict - if neither of them is capable of taking the first step towards the other, there is no chance to repair the friendship they have built together.

Yunho is about ready to cry with shame. If he had not fallen in love with his best friend, if he had not kissed him in a dream too close to reality, then he would not have to be brave right now. He would not need the world to swallow him up whole for his regret and the belief it would be better off without Yunho throwing it off balance.

“Hey, Yunho,” he hears a voice call, from his side. It is San’s. Yunho turns towards him, eyes falling upon San in his pajamas, hugging a plushie as big as his torso. “You good?”

 _No_. Yunho is truly _anything_ but good.

“Yes, sure,” he replies, hoping his eyes will not betray his anguish. San tilts his head.

“Can you not bullshit me when you’re clearly not okay?” San asks in a tired sort of voice, and perhaps Yunho has previously mistaken disbelief for confusion. “You do realize you’re standing in the middle of a hallway in front of Mingi’s room while he’s out, where anybody can see you?”

Yunho does not respond to that question, and instead poses another one to San. “Did you want something?”

San watches him, lips pressed together into a flat line, and says, “I came for some cuddles. Wooyoung is out with the others, so you’re my next best victim.”

Yunho has to laugh at that, breathlessly. His heart - rapidly beating with his nervousness, as Yunho has not realized until this very moment - gives him a short break, squeezes in his chest at his roommate’s attempts at comfort. “Sure, let’s do it,” Yunho answers, smiling as though he means it with his entire soul, as fragile and helpless as it is.

Against his expectations, San does not lead him to their shared room, but instead waits for Yunho to—well, to do _something_ , though Yunho cannot fathom what that might be. 

San raises his eyebrows, gesturing to the closed door to Mingi’s room.

_Oh._

“No,” Yunho says, decisively.

“Yes,” San grins, eyes narrowing from its greatness to make the space.

Yunho gapes at him, scrambling for a reason why they should not do this in Mingi’s room, “You—You’re not. You’re not allowed in there.”

“Don’t care,” San replies, “also, technically, I _am_ allowed in there, just not with Wooyoung.”

“Yeah, and—” Yunho stutters, outraged that San is taking this as though it is nothing, as though they are not entering forbidden territory right now. “—and what would your boyfriend say, huh? Cuddling another man while he’s away?”

It is a pointless question, considering how much affection both San and Wooyoung hold for their family as a whole, not just for one another. Especially since San cannot go to sleep without having something cuddled to his chest - be it a plushie or a human person, in which case he is not picky in his choice - and Wooyoung is so open with his love that he has never shied away from expressing it with several kisses distributed across cheeks.

Still, San’s earnest answer catches Yunho by surprise, for its grounds in excellent perceptive skills alone, “My boyfriend would agree with me that any means necessary must be used to assure that you and Mingi finally get your shit together again.”

It is the way San does not stop smiling that has Yunho feeling the slightest bit embarrassed.

“So,” San begins, promptly opening the door to the darkness of Mingi’s room, “shall we?”

Inexplicably, lying down in Mingi’s bed in his absence - not for the first time - with a different person than the owner himself - for the first time - appears to Yunho like betrayal of the highest order, though he does not believe Mingi will think the same.

Oh, well; Yunho had once thought he knew Mingi inside and out. Knew his personality and his quirks and his character meticulously. Two weeks win against almost six full years, however, and Yunho is uncertain about everything Song Mingi.

“You’re so warm,” San hums in appreciation, wiggling closer to Yunho’s torso. San is still cuddling his plushie, and Yunho has the ultimate pleasure and privilege to cuddle both of them at the same time - “Two for the price of one!”

“Now, tell me,” San says, “what the fuck happened between the two of you that you won’t talk to each other?”

Yunho grimaces upon recognition of the dark figure in the corner, and winces when he comes to realize that, just like Mingi, he has not been all too responsive to his members’ inquiries, either. Although, to his credit, opening your heart to someone is not easy, especially when your designated confidant refuses to listen to you after you have harmed him, and you fear the same emotional rejection you received from him from the few friends you still have left.

Yunho had briefly considered contacting his mother about the loss of her potential son-in-law, but the wound had been too fresh and Yunho did not wish to bring her mood down.

“I kissed him,” Yunho offers, as casual as he can manage. San turns around, faces him and replies, “No fucking way.”

“I—It was… an accident. I thought I was dreaming and—it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d dream up something like this, so I. I did what I did and now, Mingi hates me,” Yunho provides further, surprised and proud of himself he has gotten the words out without tears. “Or, well, I wish he’d hate me. Then maybe, he’d pay some attention to me. And wouldn’t punish me like this.”

“Damn,” San makes, eyebrows curling together in a show of pity Yunho does not appreciate, so he looks the other way. Yunho hears him mumbling something under his breath, bits and pieces he believes might sound like, “that doesn’t make any sense,” but Yunho cannot be too sure.

“I know I have to apologize for what I did, but he won’t let me,” Yunho adds, swallowing the lump which has formed in his throat. “I didn’t intend to—to force myself on him like that, he has to know that, I didn’t want to make him feel like he has to go along with—with whatever I wanted at that moment, so I just. I need him to know that I’m sorry. So we can move on, even when he doesn’t like me like that.”

“Dude, what did you do?” San asks him, an inflection of honest bewilderment swinging in his voice. “What do you mean by ‘force yourself on him’?”

“Not like—not like that, I swear, we didn’t—I didn’t—” Yunho cuts himself off, hands rising to his face to build a shield against his shame. He takes a deep breath. “We made out. Or—I made out with him, because I thought I could. It felt so real, you know? And I was getting so worked up and so was he, but then Hongjoong interrupted us and. That was that.”

“Wait, you made out?” San repeats. “Like? The activity that kind of takes two very willing parties to work?”

“What are you suggesting, San?”

The gaze San throws at him at the question is one of outrage, of exasperation, as though it should be obvious what he means. To Yunho, it is very much not.

“Sorry, you gotta spell it out for me,” Yunho begs, and San sighs, dropping his gaze from Yunho to stare at the ceiling above them.

“You know, I don’t think it’s my place to tell you. But I do think it’s very important you two talk it out tonight,” San tells him, voice soft yet full of a meaning Yunho cannot decipher.

“I will,” Yunho assures him. “We will. Hopefully. I’m just—scared.”

“I figured. That’s okay.”

They do not continue the conversation after that, silent as Yunho lies in Mingi’s bed with emotions of insecurity bubbling underneath his skin. The scent of him lies in every turn and every position, something he has missed to have so near, though it is but a laughable imitation of the real thing, which has been denied to him for what feels like half an eternity.

Perhaps, Yunho shall be damned like Sisyphus, forever pushing the rock up a mountain so high, it robs him of all strength, though never of determination, only for the rock to roll all over him right before he has any chance of reaching the top. A punishment that shall not mean the complete exclusion from Mingi’s life, but a place and an opportunity to be close, then closer still, though never as close as before, or the rock shall fall to the pits of hell once more.

He has tricked the world into the belief he could fall in love and never face the dire consequences.

And now, he is working endlessly to repent, hoping for everything, doing so for nothing.

“Mingi loves you, Yunho,” San breaks the quiet. “I’m sure he has his reasons for behaving the way he does, even if they aren’t pleasant. But for both your sakes, I hope you manage to figure it out and return back to normal, if nothing else.”

And Yunho is endlessly grateful for San’s optimism, for he himself cannot muster it up at the moment.

“Thank you, San,” he says, even smiles a little.

“How long has it been for you now?” San asks him, then, curiosity peeking through the blinds.

And perhaps, if Yunho had an answer to that, had knowledge of the roots and veins of his love for Mingi, then maybe, he would have a slim chance at eradicating them. It would have saved him from years living with a troubled heart, at first plagued with the fearful denial of an inexperienced teenager, then later, as he grew older though none-the-wiser, with the perpetual stab of reality, that he had better destroy his hopes now, before they got too prevalent, too tangible.

“Forever, I guess,” is his ultimate answer. “I suppose I’ve always loved him in some type of way. We didn’t _really_ grow up together, but it feels like we did. In every moment that truly meant something to me, Mingi was there. Dancing at the academy, training, debut - I guess that, some time along the way, I’ve realized that I want it to be like that all the time.

“I mean, I know that—I fucked up. I can only hope he’ll at least let me stay his friend,” Yunho finishes, sits up on the bed and stares ahead at the door, open to the hallway still, the only source of light in the room. The sniffle surprises him, because up until now, he did not think the tears would fall.

“Are you kidding?” San says, “Of course he’ll let you.”

Yunho cannot help but scoff in response, clearing his throat before he even dares to speak with too much emotion in his voice. “And what evidence do you have to support that belief? The past two weeks?”

“I think Mingi is just as scared to lose you as you are scared to lose him,” San replies, immune to the sudden inrush of Yunho’s hopelessness. Yunho mulls it over for a moment, taking the time to wipe the tears from his eyes and out of his mind. He will require a level head to have his conversation with Mingi, tears are entirely unwelcome in the already dreadful ordeal. They might draw out pity, if nothing else, but it will not be to either of their benefit.

“So he ignores my entire existence? Because he is scared?”

“As I said,” San repeats, carefully draping his arm across Yunho’s back, resting his head on Yunho’s shoulder, “I am sure he has his reasons for that. A panic response maybe. No thoughts, head empty, so to speak.”

Yunho is unsure what to make of the suspicious undertone San has on him; like he knows more than he lets on, like there is a secret he is attempting to conceal. Mingi’s secret.

He almost asks San about it, then, when his phone gives off an irritable ping to signify the long-awaited arrival of a friend; it is San who tells him so, reading the message without unlocking Yunho’s phone when Yunho does not grab for it, or moves an inch at all, really. He sits, frozen, tears dried and words dead in his mouth.

“You want me to stay?” San offers, kindly enough, but Yunho declines.

“I’ll be fine, thank you.”

So, San takes his plushie by the hand and pats Yunho’s arm with it, smiling down at him as he gets up from Mingi’s bed. Yunho hopes the minuscule beam of happiness and gratitude he sends San’s way is felt deeply inside his big heart.

“Hey, regardless of the outcome, afterwards you can come cuddling again,” San promises from the doorway, with a playful wink that is just so _San_.

“Won’t your boyfriend mind if I hog your attention?” Yunho grins, but he makes it no secret he is delighted by the offer.

“I have two arms, don’t I?” San remarks with a laugh before he leaves Yunho to his thoughts.

The dorm is not exactly quiet, now that San has gone to their room. Yunho can hear the television running in the living room, loud enough to tell Yunho of Hongjoong’s presence, what with bits of laughter and occasionally heated banter between his two eldest reaching his ears, a steady commentary to the drama Seonghwa has been following and Hongjoong is nitpicking about.

There is not much of a commotion to announce Mingi’s arrival, only gentle greetings and exhausted members passing Mingi’s open door. Wooyoung attempts to shoot him a thumbs-up as he does so, a means of encouragement Yunho catches with a weak smile.

Footsteps approach, then, unmistakable in their origin, and Yunho’s heart thrums out of his chest in fear, perhaps running out into the hallway to warn Mingi of the treacherous ambush waiting in the darkness of his own four walls. Yunho supposes now would be as good a time as any to consider doing the same, abandon his mission in favor of the horrible existence he has inclinations to get comfortable in. But he stays put, knees drawn up to his chest as he bites his lower lip, holding on tight to what little resolve he still possesses, as it starts to fizzle already.

He hears Mingi humming, no doubt going over a beat of his mixtape in his good mood, sated after a long, generous dinner and the end of promotions. Before long, Mingi will have to finish up on his mixtape, prepare his SoundCloud and think of concepts to promote it, so having such a blissful evening before yet another heavy period of stress is a blessing Mingi must have welcomed and embraced with open arms.

Too bad, then, that Yunho shall ruin Mingi’s lucky streak.

“Hi, princess,” Yunho greets him as Mingi appears in the doorway, fingers on the light switch to shed light on the prevailing source of his problems. The shriek is akin to its exaggeration on variety shows, big and bright, but frightened and alarmed, a sign of distress and suffering.

Yunho wonders if he is pale enough with the sickness in his stomach to pass as a ghost, a legitimate reason to scare an easily spooked Mingi out of his skin, for he would not like to believe his natural appearance could terrify Mingi to such a degree that he has to hold onto the door frame for support - and hide behind it, too, like a child who has witnessed a monster crawling out from under his bed.

Well - Yunho figures, if he has to be a monster to Mingi, he might at least have some part of Mingi’s life.

“What are you doing in my room?” Mingi asks him, finally, after Yunho has waited so patiently for an inexcusable number of minutes.

“Come in and I’ll tell you?” Yunho offers, a shaky smile on his face he hopes to incite the familiarity of trust in Mingi’s blood, following a muscle memory he will not have to lend any thought to. And it helps, the gravitational pull Mingi has been incapable of turning off leading him inside at last, closing the door to their own little world behind himself - there is but one itch Yunho still wishes he could scratch, what with Mingi’s eyes still not meeting his, no matter how insistently Yunho looks to have the entire universe’s attention on him again.

Mingi’s physical form may have found its rightful place here, back in Yunho’s immediate vicinity, yet it is his soul which still chooses absence over discomfort - and Yunho is staring helplessly, for he has not felt equipped to have this conversation before he invaded Mingi’s room, and he certainly does not pretend the he has the strength right now.

“So, uh,” Mingi clears his throat. “What is it?”

“I wanted to, uh, you know,” Yunho waves his hands around, circular motions in the air which would not make sense even if Mingi deigned to look at them. “I want to talk.”

Mingi fiddles with his fingers, rolling a ring off his pointer finger, as he asks as casually as he can manage, which is to say, not casually at all, “What about?"

_You know damn well what about, Song Mingi._

Yunho is not spiteful - or, rather, he tries not to be. So, he says, clear, simple, so there can be no beating around the bush, no misunderstandings, “About us kissing. And you avoiding me for the past two weeks.”

Mingi stops tapping his fingers against each other, goes stock still as he stands close to the door and far from Yunho still. Then, as quick as his movements have ceased, they start up once more, Mingi darting across the room towards his desk, as though searching for something in haste. “Sorry, I just remembered that—studio. I have to get to the studio tonight.”

Yunho’s heart drops to the bottom of the ocean, ferocious waves swallowing it whole. His eyes fall to the Airpods Mingi is no doubt looking for, right next to Yunho on the bedside table, hidden beneath the book Mingi’s mother gifted him for his birthday, and a few sheets of paper with lyrics and ideas for arrangements scrabbled onto them. Numb with his disappointment, Yunho picks the case up, mumbles a weak, “Catch!” as a warning before chucking them into Mingi’s direction - it has the desired effect, as Mingi turns towards him and has to identify the flying object coming at him before he can decide if it is worth using his reflexes, but he manages to catch the case before it can take its graceless tumble towards the ground. In his shock, Mingi has forgotten his steadfast determination to be ignorant of Yunho’s gaze, meets it for the briefest of seconds, though the damage has been done.

Mingi does not run, as Yunho expected he would. Only now, he has his Airpods to occupy his fingers with.

It is heavy, the air between them, heavy and unbearable, though Yunho tries not to let it sit in his mind as he gets up from Mingi’s bed and crosses the distance between them, a last effort to say what he wishes to say even if Mingi prefers to flee from him. However, with every step he takes, deliberately slow, Mingi appears to wake up and only sense danger.

“Sorry, I—Thank you, but I have to go,” Mingi murmurs, making his way towards the door, and that is when Yunho, unable to hold himself back any longer, has had enough.

“Song Mingi, I swear to God,” he says, a brittle voice of anger raised to a volume so unlike him, it has Mingi stop in his tracks yet again. “At least let me apologize to you, damn it. Ignore me all you want, fine, I don’t care, but at least let me—give me a chance, please. Let me say I’m sorry.”

Yunho is not prepared for Mingi’s eyes now meeting his in full, after such hesitation and even clear resistance to do so before, but they are wide with an emotion he cannot seem to identify, something new and strange and unreadable, something Yunho has never seen on Mingi before.

“S-sorry?” Mingi repeats, his eyebrows drawing together into an intense frown, head in high gears to make sense of Yunho’s outburst. “Sorry for what?”

“For kissing you, what else?” Yunho throws his hands into the air, in disbelief that even has to spell it out again. “I’m sorry I kissed you. It’s no excuse, I know, but I was dreaming and I thought—I thought I could kiss you, for whatever reason, but it didn’t mean anything—”

Yunho trails off, stumbling over his lie.

He did not mean to do it, that much is the truth - though to claim it did not mean anything to him; outrageously incorrect. Undeniably wrong. 

The fact remains, though, that it was not right of him to do in the first place, no matter how stuck in a dream he had been. “I’m sorry, Mingi, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable around me,” Yunho adds, a controlled roll of his tongue now that he has breathed through heaps of his desperation. “I just want to go back to normal, okay? If you can’t do that because I fucked up, I understand that, but I just—I need you to know that I am sorry for making you think you had to, I don’t know, go along with whatever I was forcing on you. I’m really, really, honestly so sorry, Mingi. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable,” Mingi tells him, then, finally at a volume Yunho does not have a hard time understanding. The strange look on his face has not vanished, and yet he speaks with so much clarity, so much certainty that Yunho has no reason not to believe his every word. “I didn’t think you were forcing anything on me, either.”

“You… didn’t?”

“No, I—I was half-asleep, too, I didn’t really know what was going on, but I—” Mingi’s eyes leave Yunho’s and he resumes gnawing on his lips, unsure how to continue. What he settles on, after a while, is, “It takes two people to do this, Yunho, don’t think I didn’t take part in this as much as you. Because I did.”

Yunho’s mouth falls open, untrusting of his ears delivering the quiet reminder to his brain, as Mingi’s back falls against the door with a soundless thud. Mingi is the one watching him then, when Yunho cannot find his ability to speak in all of his confusion, even as he sees Mingi’s honesty reflected in all of his features, familiar to him as it was before those two weeks of radio silence threw him off balance. “Then why…” Yunho manages, more of a breath than actual words, and he clears his throat, but his voice comes out croaky, raspy - Yunho attributes it to his beating heart clawing at his vocal chords, that he ought to be careful of what he says now, in this new fragility Mingi has brought upon them.

“Then why were you acting like I didn’t exist, even when I was only trying to talk to you?” Yunho asks. Mingi does not give his answer immediately, back to avoiding Yunho’s eyes in favor of his Airpods case.

And just when Yunho believes their conversation is honest and open, Mingi parts his lips for what is half a truth at best, “I needed some space. I was a bit—confused. I needed some time to think—about what we did. What it meant.”

The oxygen in the room has dropped to a critical level, Yunho’s throat closing up to disallow the minuscule remnants to reach his lungs.

“What… what did it mean, then?” Yunho brings himself to ask, even though he is not shy to admit that he fears the response.

The thing about Song Mingi is that, even when he lies, he is nothing but honest. Even when the words fall off his lips, untruthful and wrong, Mingi does nothing to hide his insincerity.

Normally, this happens under the intentions of good humor, for entertainment purposes only, so at the end of the day, every one still gets a big laugh out of it.

To be at the receiving end, to draw the short straw, it does not seem a bearable thing. And yet, it is what Yunho is subjected to, when Mingi finally gives his reply. 

“Nothing, like you said,” Mingi is quiet, attempting to hide his despondence beneath the quirk of his lips, a sight so unnatural it sickens him. “It meant nothing. It was just—just a stupid mistake.”

Their eyes meet again, as though the knowledge of the unsaid hovering around them is creating electricity through a different sort of friction, a current between their stares, alternating its intensity by jumping from one to the other and back again.

“A mistake,” Yunho echoes, “Yeah.”

Yunho would be foolish now, if he said something of the opposite. A mistake it had certainly been, yes; yet, why does it hurt to hear Mingi confirm it? Why does it affect his heart and his mind so much, beating for dear life and scrambling for some semblance of rationality, when he had come into Mingi’s room tonight expecting nothing less than the inevitable verbal rejection he had seen coming for five long years?

Yunho swallows, grits his teeth. Does his best to have his face remain neutral in what should not feel like a battle between two opposing forces but somehow does.

“Are we okay, then?” Mingi asks him, somehow mirroring Yunho’s stance with the tension in his shoulders, and a sour look on his face he most likely tries to hide, but fails as spectacularly as Yunho does.

They are anything but okay; Mingi knows this, Yunho knows this, and still, he is tired to his bones and irritated, his mind lies in shambles before him and he has lost the ability to piece it all together, not when heartbreak prevails and overpowers him, colors the world before his eyes in a deep, dark red.

But he says, “We’re okay,” and, “as long as you’ll stop ignoring me,” because he has some sense of self-worth left within him.

Mingi gives a short laugh at that, a forced sound, not even close to what Yunho is used to. “I won’t, promise. I’m sorry I, uh. I’m sorry I handled it this way.”

“It’s okay,” Yunho says, “we’re okay.”

Perhaps, if he repeats it some more, whispers it to himself like a lullaby before he goes to sleep, he might actually believe it.

Weeks pass faster than Yunho can even imagine, surprise taking ahold of him when Mingi and him return to a strange, new normal that, to any other person might appear as though they are back to being the best friends the world knows them as, not two very distant people trying and failing to approach each other in private settings - when awareness strikes that it is only the two of them watching.

One might call it professionalism in its finest excellence, though Yunho does not like the thought of his relationship to Mingi only prevailing within the bounds of their career. Too much of an act for others, it would be, and Yunho knows they are - heartbroken as he is over his unrequited love - more than a play to watch for other people’s enjoyment, even in an industry where they serve the purpose of just that.

So, Yunho sits down next to Mingi at lunch, hopes Mingi holds to his promise to not disregard his existence any longer and - well, it works, slowly, gradually, but they establish comfort around each other, hesitant in its first, uncertain steps to become what it has been—before.

Its oddity is something they choose to ignore, a silent agreement as they exchange small smiles over the bottles of coke Mingi brings them one day, clear with his intent to share his time with Yunho.

Small moments like these make hope spark within Yunho’s chest - that perhaps, and should it take a long time, he does not care, they will find their way back to themselves, twirl their heads until they become dizzy again, bright grins matching and hurting from the wide stretch across their faces.

The music has already started playing a familiar tune, they just have to rediscover the rhythm of their song, how to sing it together after so long. It should be an easy task, considering their line of work, yet somehow, with each other, the severity of it all lies heavy on their bodies, an additional weight carried solely by the two of them, instead of their entire family.

Sometimes, it can break down upon them, or one of them even - sometimes, their days do not go as they should, start badly from the moment they step outside of their cocoons in their dorms and attempt to make themselves believe the day still has opportunities to take chances on. Sharing the burdens, sharing the doubts, it is a reminder that they are not fighting against the world all alone - and yet, sometimes, when you are the only one out of eight who has such an unfortunate day of bad luck after bad luck, you end up second-guessing whether that is even true at all.

Mingi has been succumbing to stress in the last two months or so, for his wish to put himself out there with his own songs; all of which are self-produced - written, composed, arranged in their entirety all by himself, in the hours he spends at the studio well into the night, hiding away just like Hongjoong tends to do. The company has allowed him an opportunity unlike another, an official Soundcloud account to publish his very own, very first mixtape - a performance video for one of his songs to promote on their YouTube channel, as well. 

He will be the first to showcase his individual talents to the world - albeit on YouTube at first, and no official solo activities or stages - with the other seven of them to follow with their own projects down the road, in-between comeback promotions and concert tours.

Mingi has been working hard towards a streak of luck like this ever since he had been a trainee, and even well before that, and Yunho knows Mingi would chase the stars to gather their preciousness into his music, an effort not many people of Yunho’s knowledge would go to. And yet it is that same drive and determination, pulled together into a man who may be tall and strong, yet easily overwhelmed in situations of unknown variables, that brings days of frustrations upon Mingi - for no one is a greater critic but the one inside yourself, and Mingi has higher standards towards himself than he should, for his own peace of mind.

But Mingi knows himself better than anyone - Yunho can perhaps be counted as a close second in that regard, though Jongho has been a tough competitor of his, too - and usually, before circumstance drove them apart against their will, Mingi would alert someone of his distress, and ask for comfort either in his studio or as soon as he arrives home. And Yunho would be there with open arms, waiting for him, providing anything and everything Mingi would need to feel like a person outside of his accomplishment and productivity measured in perfections.

Yunho does not fully know if they have come to a place where Mingi would remember the promise Yunho had given him once; that he would make sure Mingi never got upset, and even if he did, that he would always be welcome by Yunho’s side in search of his comforts.

A selfish part of Yunho wishes Mingi all to himself still, in his good moments, in the bad ones, the ones in which he would cheer and laugh in his excitement for his mixtape, and those that would tear him down completely, have him collect tears in a metaphorical mason jar until Yunho takes note of it and discards them all. But even though it pains him, knowing that their friendship will be all he ever has, it is something he must learn to treasure without the burning questions of, “What if it were different?”

It is a matter of getting used to the feeling, fighting through it, continuing to be the best friend Yunho has always been to Mingi. Proving that he can, in spite of everything that might speak against him.

When he walks by Mingi’s room one night, two or three in the morning having put most of the dorm to sleep already, he registers the muted sound of continuous whimpering, sniffles, their origin unmistakable. Yunho has only been on a short trip to the bathroom and back, when he hears it.

At first, he thinks of waking Seonghwa, or Jongho - doubt clouds his judgement as he believes anyone might be a better choice than Yunho, who has not been in Mingi’s room ever since they shared their very awkward and stilted conversation there, and is unsure whether Mingi would even want him to intrude, especially in the state that he is in.

But Yunho must move past his own misgivings to become the friend he needs to be, and he will give it the attempt it deserves, respect whichever decision Mingi will make upon the sight of Yunho in his last place of chosen solitude.

So, Yunho knocks, waits for a few seconds for an answer that does not come, before he goes to open the door as quietly as possible, inch by inch, until he has full sight of a cowering figure in Mingi’s bed, convulsing with sobs that arrive at Yunho’s ear without the barrier of the door muffling its volume first.

“Mingi?”

Mingi does not acknowledge him, only seems to hunch in on himself further, to hide the pathetic noises he makes underneath his comforter. Yunho comes closer, cautious in his steps, and he kneels down in front of Mingi’s bed when Mingi does not give him any sign to stop.

Still.

It feels like forbidden territory.

“Hey, princess,” Yunho whispers, chin on top of the mattress as he smiles at the weeping man before him with all of the softness in his body. He raises his hand to the shock of hair peeking out of the blankets Mingi has pulled around himself in search of protection, gently caressing it with his fingertips, a touch so light at first, Mingi has enough time to push Yunho away or get used to the affection the gesture provides. “What’s up?”

In truth, Yunho does not expect an answer from Mingi, not a verbal one at least - only a signal of some sort, an incentive to be closer or leave entirely, something Yunho knows how to interpret without Mingi having to use his words.

Eyes filled with stars find his under the veil of night, disbelief and sorrow making for a pitiful mixture that has Yunho’s hand crawl deeper into the mess of tangles which make up Mingi’s soft, dark blond hair. 

“You okay with me being here, princess?” Yunho asks.

A nod, between shaky breaths and ceaseless tears.

“Can I… hold you?”

Another one, quicker than the one before, more urgent, more desperate. Yunho did not realize he had held his breath, for the minuscule amount of time it took Mingi to answer, but now he releases a sigh of relief, unnecessary grandeur and too loud for the dead of night.

Yunho pushes into motion instantly afterwards, rising to plant himself behind Mingi’s back, when Mingi halts him with his hand closed around Yunho’s wrist - a clear sign of where he wishes Yunho to be; somewhere Mingi can see, not just feel his presence.

“Sorry, sorry,” Yunho apologizes, rectifying his initial mistake by lying down in front of Mingi, who makes space for Yunho only to close the distance between them again the second Yunho’s body has gone horizontal. Mingi hides his face in Yunho’s chest, as best as he can manage, grabs fistfuls of Yunho’s t-shirt as he resumes the miserable cries that tear at Yunho’s heart.

Yunho knows there is not much he can do except being the anchor to pull him back to reality, something to hold onto as the world seems to kick and spit at him for a reason Yunho is yet unaware of. Mingi has told him so, often enough, that his sadness is something he is unafraid of, something he allows to consume his entire body once it catches him off guard - it is a matter of finding your way out of the tunnel, once the light is but an afterthought in the midst of suffocating gloominess, and tonight, after a long time, Yunho is the one to help him.

Music has always been a calming factor for Mingi - it is life’s blood, his rejuvenation, what is keeping him bound to earth when he is in danger of floating away. Under different circumstances, Yunho would be quick to retrieve his phone, or Mingi’s for its closer proximity, and simply hit play on Mingi’s favorite playlist. Now, as Mingi sobs into his chest, all which lies in Yunho’s capabilities, is his own voice, their own tunes he knows like the back of his hand.

And so, he starts the first song that comes to his mind.

“Finally, we begin, yeah…”

Yunho cannot remember the entirety of Hongjoong’s first verse and does not wish to pretend otherwise, nor would he even dare to imitate the master and his craft himself - this is not to prove his own skills at rapping, but to bring peace to Mingi’s troubled head. He hums the melody, fingers moving up and down Mingi’s spine as he does his best to recreate ‘My Way’ in his own extra version, a solo performance for Mingi’s ears only.

As soon as he arrives at Mingi’s own verse - a part he knows by heart - he goes over to spoken word, highlighting its special meaning to put emphasis on every single word.

_I always wanted you to take care of me_

_The moment I’m alone, it’s hard for me_

_When the memories that kept my side of me, collapsed one by one,_

_I thought everything around me was going to disappear_

Debut has been hard on all of them, Yunho remembers. They all dealt with the pressure of becoming idols in different ways, had different methods to prepare themselves for a future that had been distant for so long, and was then coming at them with lightning speed, catching up too quickly for them to keep their wits.

_I don’t look back, I know life’s endless_

_I’ve been shaken, And I know it’s a change_

_I will never forget, I enjoy the word youth_

Mingi’s choice was to lay open his feelings in the best way he could, in offering their fans honesty in their lyrics from the very first moment - to encourage them on their own way, a reassurance that so long as they stick to their path, even the hardest obstacles can be overcome. It will be worth it, in the end, is his greatest message, and Yunho is proud of him for not shying away from speaking his truth even now, even today.

_And at this moment, the pain is gone._

Yunho finishes the song without other twists and turns, surprised that, by the end of it, Mingi lies still against him, hands slack and no longer furious with their grip, and for a single second, Yunho believes he might have helped Mingi fall asleep.

They lie there for a while, in a silence Yunho even dares to call peaceful, now that Mingi’s sobs have subsided to trembling breaths. But then a rough, deep voice speaks up, and it sounds weak and tired and not at all in the mood, except he chooses to defy his own fatigue to break words with Yunho.

“How did you know?”

Yunho frowns, unable to follow, “Know what?”

“That that’s what’s been bothering me,” Mingi provides as an explanation.

“‘My Way’... has been bothering you?” Yunho asks, more than a little perplexed.

“No,” Mingi says, pulls back from Yunho’s chest to reveal his face to him. Even with the lack of light, Yunho can see the tear tracks, the snotty nose, all of the things that would make even the most beautiful person in the world - which, to Yunho, could only ever be Song Mingi - look unpretty. “My mixtape.”

“Oh,” Yunho makes, sooner than it registers in his head what Mingi is trying to tell him.

Something must have happened at the studio tonight - Mingi’s precious project causing him more grief than worth its creation. Yunho’s reminder of his roots, of ‘My Way’, of the struggles Mingi once faced and shall always face again, it seems, must have brought some lost hope back to him. 

“ _Oh,_ ” Yunho echoes, now that it has clicked, the puzzle pieces all slotted together. “Not going the way you want it to? Are you okay to talk about it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just… It’s nothing really. There’s just—that one song. That has been bothering me for months now,” Mingi starts. “I just—couldn’t get it right. It always felt so incomplete.”

“And?” comes Yunho’s gentle encouragement when Mingi trails off into nothing and leaves it at that for a while.

“I… deleted it. By accident. My entire progress is just—gone,” Mingi explains in a neutral tone, almost as if it has not happened to him but another, and he is but the messenger to bring the unfortunate news. 

“You don’t sound too unhappy about that,” Yunho notes, openly, unsure whether he should have given his pity at the loss of a song instead. 

“I have it saved on like five different devices, it’s just the newest version I lost,” Mingi says, and Yunho has to laugh a little, a hushed sound. “Which was… kind of a compromise between what I initially wanted to do with the song and the only way it would work out to still be, I don’t know, not boring.”

“Nothing you produce is boring, Mingi,” Yunho swears, though he knows Mingi is not truly looking for reassurance in his abilities. Still, Yunho feels the need to say it, so he does - simple as that.

Mingi sighs, resignation in his expression even as a smile attempts a small, meaningful breakthrough. “I hated it. I hated it because I couldn’t get it to a place where I would be happy with it. I hated it so much that, after I saw it was gone, I had a fucking mental breakdown because I didn’t know how to fix it before my deadline in two weeks.

“I just—can’t seem to figure it out. I don’t know what it wants from me, as a creator, as a musician, or as a _person_ ,” Mingi huffs in his frustrations, gives an unconscious tug at Yunho’s t-shirt. It takes Yunho by surprise so much, he releases an involuntary gasp.

“Sorry,” Mingi mutters, sheepish of all things, and says, out of the blue, “Sorry, I’m—You weren’t planning on listening to me whining about the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I have here. You… you don’t have to stay with me, I—”

“Nonsense, Mingi,” Yunho interrupts him, daring to pull Mingi closer when his brain ceases its function as Yunho’s rationality provider. “I want to be there for you. I—” Yunho swallows, speaks against his beating heart— “I vowed to you once that I would make sure you didn’t get upset. I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep my promise.”

Yunho can hear the blood rushing through his ears, hot and heavy even as it fills his cheeks, and Mingi has frozen against him. A bold statement, in their current state of existence, something that should not be uttered when no distance is between them, yet Yunho has made a fool of himself for the second time in a short while.

“Sorry,” he then takes his turn to apologize, lowering his eyes and chuckling as though it was nothing. Meant nothing. Not as much as it does. “I can actually leave if you want me to. But I’m here for you, I just want you to know that.”

Mingi’s hand comes to rest underneath his chin, long fingers curling around it; Yunho is pliant in his hands, follows the gentle call to stop being afraid, to see the dream everywhere around him. Realize its reality. Put weight on its meaning. “I do know that—I doubt there are a lot of people in the world who’d hum the melody and recite the best verse I have ever written just to make me stop crying.”

Yunho smiles, “Least I could do. I know ‘My Way’ is—precious to you.”

“Among other things,” Mingi agrees, returning that smile. “Can’t believe I wrote that part two years ago and it still feels like I could’ve done it yesterday. I—I didn’t think you would know it by heart, though.”

“I know what it means to you, so,” Yunho shrugs, an explanation he gives willingly, procuring courage from the tender touch Mingi has offered him. It is funny how, in spite of the reason Yunho is here, they are both a means of comfort to one another, drawing out their entire soul through a sensation light as fingertips, and suddenly, all of the past weeks’ adjustment to a new normal appear so hopelessly insignificant - for the old normal is with them still, having been locked from both their hearts for fear of discovery of that which lies deepest, and yet, fear is unwarranted.

There is nothing to be scared of, when it comes to the two of them.

“I want every song of mine to mean something, just like that,” Mingi says. “I don’t know if that’s unrealistic but—so far, I have given my all to ensure that. And I don’t want to fail when it’s just me calling the shots.”

Yunho hums in consideration, taking Mingi’s hand in his, continuing his trail along Mingi’s spine with the other. He gives it a squeeze, a hope of encouragement, “I know I can’t really help you figure it out, but… you know, maybe it’d be a good idea to step away from it for a day or two. You and I both know that sometimes, music can’t be forced to be, even as a compromise. So, perhaps it’s good your progress is gone. It’s like—”

“What? A sign from the universe?” Mingi laughs, and Yunho joins in when he realizes how much weight it lifts off Mingi’s shoulders.

“Sure, if you want it to be,” Yunho says. “Maybe it wasn’t the universe, but just you,” (it is all the same to Yunho, anyhow,) “you saw it wasn’t the way you wanted it to be, so you didn’t really take care to make sure you had it saved on those five devices of yours.”

“You know me so well,” Mingi grins, big and goofy like Yunho loves it, “I’m just hoping inspiration strikes and I can—well, do something I’m at least satisfied with, if I can’t really be happy with it.”

“Have you thought about asking for help?” Yunho wonders, “I’m sure Hongjoong would be willing to take a look at it, too, if you asked him.”

“No, I—” Mingi stops, jotting out his lower lip to bite on it. “It’s not like I think I couldn’t ask anyone for help. I just need to figure this out on my own.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, Mingi. We already know you are a gifted musician.”

“Are you sure about that, though?” Mingi counters, the scrunch of his nose telling of immense displeasure. “Being who we are, isn’t it always just trying to prove yourself that you’re worthy of the attention?”

Mingi is not wrong in this - the past two years have been spent establishing themselves as a group with several, well-trained skills and abilities, as musicians not only in South Korea but all across the globe. They have kept growing and growing and of course, Yunho would never claim that it had been easy. But even as deserved recognition was a tough feat to come by, Yunho has never felt as though he had to prove himself to anyone but himself.

So, he says, “We are always worthy of the attention. We have worked so hard to get where we are. And you—you especially, with your mixtape now, as well. I think everyone would be glad to see you have fun with your music, be happy with it. Everything else is—not nearly as important as your freedom in creativity.”

“You really think so, huh? Got that much faith in me?” Mingi asks, pretending as though the tears were not as close to falling as Yunho might believe.

“Is that even a question?”

Yunho blames their strange new world for what he does next; he raises Mingi’s hands to his mouth, plants a kiss there to give his promise and his belief, and curiously enough, he holds Mingi’s throughout all of it. From the moment his lips touch soft skin, during the burning contact and afterwards still, his eyes never waver, and neither do his affections.

“Am I dreaming?” Mingi whispers, visibly awed by Yunho’s actions, having forgotten how to breathe. “Are you dreaming?”

Yunho does not expect the questions, nor their jab at his heart, sharp as a knife as they cut into his flesh. Mingi’s disbelief is founded in a profound insecurity, for last time reality had been nothing but an illusion, beautiful in its colors and its sensations. Breaking free from it had been akin to jumping into cold water, gulping down heaps and heaps of ice to replace the warmth of the fire once willfully sparked.

This time, they are awake, they are aware, and Yunho is not ready to let the ice invade his insides yet again, for he had almost lost Mingi in the process when he allowed it to happen last time.

“I am not dreaming,” Yunho promises him, speaking a little louder than necessary to erase any doubt that the hush of a dream might be covering them like a blanket. “And I am pretty sure you aren’t either.”

“Maybe we should be,” Mingi says, “then we’d have an excuse.”

That makes Yunho frown, “An excuse for what?”

Many people have called Song Mingi a coward in their lifetime - for his fear of anything horror, for his screams and yelps at the twitching and screeching of the extraordinary attractions at haunted houses.

But Song Mingi is anything but a coward.

“To leave things unsaid between us,” he answers, eyes drifting closed as he uses their joint hands to pull Yunho closer, reminiscent of a dream that had not been one.

Yunho feels his lungs collapsing, though he does not withdraw, as much as anything and everything in his body tells him to - there is just his heart, stronger, asserting its dominance over Yunho’s muscles and defeating his brain in a fight against anxiety.

“I’m tired, Yunho,” Mingi nuzzles his face against Yunho’s collarbone and sighs as though he is not just talking about his bodily fatigue. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

The decision has been made for Yunho; he knows there is not a chance at resistance. So he gives in, racing thoughts soon replaced by colorful dreams with the one he loves. In the morning, he holds on tight, and prays he does not make any other mistake.

Song Mingi has shouldered a lot of difficulties and conflicts, internal as well as external, over the past few months.

In his anticipation of new opportunities, in his excitement to showcase his true self to the world, he had not accounted for the level of stress he would be experiencing, a recklessness in his lack of foresight, and thus been greatly overwhelmed when the hardships of his day-to-day work as an idol were not the only matter of concern.

Yunho has always had a special place in Mingi’s heart, for as long as Mingi has known him. Not a soul in the world could be as bright as the sun itself, though Yunho puts up a fight, a worthy rival to their universe’s constant, and it is an unconsciousness about Yunho that has bright rays of tickling warmth circle around his head, like the halo of a heavenly creature Mingi is unworthy of meeting.

Being Yunho’s friend - when he wishes to share his love in a different manner entirely - feels like that; like wings being plucked out feather by feather in the midst of full flight, to experience a slow dive into madness, as you cannot hold the high you crave to see what your love is up to, up there in the clouds.

Except once, Mingi had been floating, content with his position in the sky as long as he could still watch from a distance which was not much of a distance at all. For Mingi could always, always, always reach out and be met in kind, and the next feather would be taken by the wind without his notice.

At one point in time, the clouds became like mist before his vision, and a kiss was exchanged between the inhabitant of the heavens and a creature who should not have had the audacity to ask for it. To call the sun’s rival beautiful, hold him close, meant to pull him down as Mingi lost his ability of flight and—

It is no wonder that his wings had been taken away then, shortly afterwards, and he plummeted towards the ground as he feared his true intentions discovered, his cover ruined and nothing to shield himself from the mercilessness of rejection.

And yet, the meaning he had placed into his unspoken love confession, it vanished as Yunho came down to bring back his wings - for he felt responsible for Mingi’s punishment and sought one himself - even after Mingi spent days upon days worrying for his rightful place in the greater scheme of things. Even after Mingi took the effort to look when he knew Yunho was not watching, pretending ignorance of an omnipresence in his life.

Mingi feared the confrontation, though he did not expect its outcome to be of a reality worse than his most troublesome imagination.

His fate, his wings, accepted, and Mingi continued on with his life even as the distance became an unbearable necessity, yet it closed and closed until there had been nothing left once again.

Mingi is tired.

Mingi is tired of playing an act he knows does him no good. He is tired of flying high and higher still, not for a chase, not for a goal, but to see the world below him shift and change but not himself along with it. He remains the same, as does Yunho, only because neither of them can prepare themselves for the next stage in their relationship.

Mingi’s mother used to say that only time is more powerful than the entire universe put together in a force of arms, for it prevails even as no one watches, it ticks by even as no clock’s hand points to a certain number. And Mingi - Mingi is inclined to believe her, so he waits, patiently, masters it in all of his time spent wondering where Yunho will take his next step, and if it is into a direction Mingi can easily, willfully follow.

Love returns to them, he is certain of it, for the stresses of his brave confession to the world of music have caused them to band together for relief, and courage is suddenly an asset Yunho has regained when it had almost left him.

And yet, Mingi is done with allowing untold truths between them to sit and stir for themselves. He is ready to place his foot onto the face of the earth and forsake his wings, let the world tug him along as it pleases, but he shall only do so with a hand holding his, equally as unafraid as he is to fall into a new sort of balance.

So, he reaches out.

“You want me to do what?”

It is funny how huge Yunho’s eyes can become when he is surprised, in a good way. And although Mingi knows Yunho has heard him perfectly well, he is delighted to repeat himself, “I want you to choreograph the performance to ‘Golden Silver’. You know, the unofficial title track?”

The song that brought Mingi to the end of his wits and hauled him right back not too soon after. His masterpiece, his pride - an open confession to his love for music, among other things, and the unexpected obstacles placed in your way that may or may not be cause for distress in life. His creativity had been blocked up until the moment Mingi had deleted his latest sample in fits of anger and unhappiness about anything and everything that had something to do with the mixtape.

And the deterioration of his relationship to Yunho.

To rediscover that it had not been broken beyond repair - in fact, quite intact in its origins, its foundation and merely a bit uncertain around its pillars and columns - had opened the doors to inspiration, with Yunho in its epicenter.

With how much Yunho had given him, unintentional as it was, it is now Mingi’s turn to repay him - the least he could do, truly.

“But—don’t you want, I don’t know, a professional choreographer to do it? You know, like—”

“Like you,” Mingi shoots down all of his suggestions, aware that Yunho does not have any doubts about his own capabilities as a dancer or a choreographer, even, and is only concerned if it is the right choice for Mingi to let him do it. The untold truth is still there, weakly calling the shots, in spite of all of their efforts and progress of forbidding it from further destroying their friendship. Mingi understands Yunho’s questioning, but he is nothing if not persistent and clear in what he wants.

And what he wants is for Yunho to express himself, in accordance with Mingi’s music. An unofficial test run of how well they can work together, as though all the years behind them are not already proof enough.

“Are you sure?” Yunho asks, though his grin is already peeking out at the edges of his mouth.

“Absolutely sure,” Mingi tells him, because he is. He is sure. And he wants Yunho to meet him there, halfway, so he reaches out.

Yunho is passion and fire when he dances. He is well-executed technique, sharp movements, focus and expression trained to perfection. A natural pull towards the skill has implemented itself into Yunho’s heart, and the constant work he puts into it has manifested it as a whole part of his being, something to be admired. And Mingi is not shy to admit to it.

And to think that Mingi could transform a song he loathed for its existence into something to listen to when words fail to tell of his love for Yunho - he is a man of skill, as well, as are they all, but nobody quite fits so well as Yunho does.

The song begins slow, picks up its pace and goes faster, faster until it stops right before the chorus, takes a moment to let thoughts flow, before it allows for an explosion of emotions, which Yunho has taken as his cue to bring in quick, big movements, and Mingi likes this, likes how his music can evoke the exact reaction in Yunho as it does in Mingi - both have different ways of showing it to their audience, Mingi sticking to lyrics to bring out his feelings, Yunho using his body to do its magic in a dance.

The meaning remains the same.

On the surface, gold appears most precious to a person, adorning necks and ears and securing future for many of the rich who have no need of it, but beneath, underneath, there is silver, something that may not be worth as much in money, yet brings luck upon a poor soul in its discovery. Pushing aside all the glitz and glamour, you find a life of hardship, of troubles in relationships, in matters of the heart, but still a life so worth living that it is no less valuable, no less wonderful.

Mingi is living this life.

Mingi has the utmost privilege to be the person he is, a golden silver song, maybe not perfect but getting there, although he knows it is not a requirement to be worthy.

And as the weeks pass and Mingi’s nervousness becomes more palpable in the days before the release of his first songs - three of them, his own blood, sweat and tears - there is something else, knocking on the inside of his skull, a reminder of the person closest to him, who has brought him the treasure before Mingi would even think of procuring the map. Mingi watches him perfect the choreography for the performance, finalizing it before it can be recorded and uploaded to YouTube.

Mingi feels content; scared shitless, frightened, nervous, any emotion associated with the irrational fear of humiliation, all of them dwelling in his brain as he waits for Yunho to come out of the showers at the dance studio, just a quick one to reek less in the car home. (Mingi has become a bit sensitive, always on the verge of being sick to the stomach, and Yunho is considerate enough not to take risks within small spaces.)

Outside, a rain storm has begun pattering against the windows, thunder roaring after lightning, the lover it only reaches when destruction is at its peak.

“Ready to go?” Yunho breaks him out of his daydream, appearing before him with a blinding smile, striking like lightning.

And Mingi would be, if he had not woken up with a task to fulfill by the end of the day, which is fast approaching like the thunder rushing after lightning. Something sits there, in the forefront of his mind, has been sitting there since he had asked if they were okay when they were anything but.

It is a question he half knows the answer to, but he cannot be sure unless he asks it. A method to uncover the truth after a blatant lie has taken up its space for months on end, with Mingi as complicit in the crime as Yunho.

But now Yunho stands before him, so unsuspecting and blinking in confusion at Mingi’s unresponsiveness, and Mingi does not know how to bring it up. It has been so long, so long since they went out of tune with one another and came back around in a different setting, and Mingi is not afraid Yunho will resent him for bringing it up now when he had once been too much of a coward to do it.

However.

Plunging into a pool of darkness is not something Mingi is particularly eager to do, even if he is tired of being afraid. Toeing the line is easier than crossing it, stumbling without falling much preferred despite its unstable and unsafe nature.

Though nothing shall be left unsaid any longer. And how else could Mingi best ascertain that Yunho is as scared as he is than by asking the question on the tip of his tongue ever since it had to endure the bitter taste of dishonesty.

So, Mingi plants his feet firmly on the ground and stares Yunho dead in the eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat before it can block him from asking.

He says, “Why did you lie to me?”

And Yunho only replies, smile crumbling to pieces, “What?”

Sure, perhaps, Mingi should elaborate on what he means. He hopes Yunho does not make it an everyday occurrence to lie to Mingi, but it is still an accusation to throw you off, irritate you a little, understandably so. Mingi is so good with words that sometimes, they tend to fail him at the most unfavorable of moments.

Much like this one, where it means a lot, where it means the fate of the world.

Mingi tries to keep holding on, but what it translates to outside of his body is a blank face and a restless body.

“When you and I had our—talk. About... well, you know.”

“The kissing?” Yunho inquires, and he must be hoping he is wrong with the way panic settles into the creases of his frown.

“Yes,” Mingi replies, feels almost bad about it. But Yunho’s reaction is but a first confirmation that Mingi did not imagine his withholding of the truth, and so he trudges on, “When you said it was a dream. I suppose that—”

“That was the truth,” Yunho supplies, hurried, defensive. Like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I know, that’s not what I’m referring to,” Mingi says, growing steadily more frustrated with himself, with Yunho, but he goes on, because he must. Who else will save them from themselves, otherwise? “I’m talking about you saying it didn’t mean anything to you.”

Stark silence follows, as thunder breaks over them, rumbling deep into the heart of the building where they stand, and Yunho continues to gape at him, mouth opening and closing and opening like a fish, equally as incapable of speech.

“Why did you lie to me about that?”

“I didn’t...” Yunho breathes, but he appears to know that another lie will get him nowhere, only further back as the world runs over him, and they look at each other like they both would rather flee from this.

“I just—you know what I was doing these two weeks I avoided you? I was trying to figure out what to do with myself, now that you knew I—” Mingi stops, before he says too much, and rephrases, “now that you knew I had a secret. I was—so scared that you would hate me. And I had to live with that for the rest of my life.”

Yunho does not respond, face falling to a state of neutrality Mingi cannot read.

“Then you... said what you said. Told me it was your fault. And I was so—confused because I thought—because I thought I was the one who fucked up. I felt so relieved, you know,” Mingi grins, as best as he can, to show just how strong he has been all this time, with so much pain hidden inside of his chest, sheltered in his ribcage, “I almost hoped you felt the same way I did. Because if I thought I kissed you and you thought you kissed me, we were then, by definition, kissing each other, right?”

Mingi laughs, tears springing to his eyes as unwanted visitors, “But of course... Of course, it didn’t mean anything to you. You made that pretty clear. And who was I to say that it meant something to _me_ when I knew - no, correction, when I _thought_ I knew it would not change anything about the outcome of that conversation?

“But you know what, Yunho, you’re pretty shit at hiding that you love me, too,” Mingi declares, a bit louder now that he has nothing left to hide. Yunho remains motionless, still, petrified by his shock at Mingi’s blatant candidness and his sudden ambush - serves him right for doing the same to Mingi, having put him on the spot months ago.

“Wanna know when I realized?”

When Yunho actually nods, with a dead sort of expression on his face, it startles another bout of laughter out of Mingi, and he says, “You don’t kiss your homie’s hand like he means the world to you, when you two have been basically walking on eggshells for months trying to get used to each other again, and said homie, or, well, _me_ , has just bawled his eyes out moments before.”

Yunho blinks at him, trying to process what he is hearing. “I’m... sorry?”

“And—you’ve been like this with me before, I know because I was the same, and guess what, buddy, I’m in love with you, too! Funny coincidence that is, right? Which brings me back to my original question; why did you lie to me?”

And then, the question stands there, the elephant in the tiny dance studio, coordinating its four limbs to stomp on the floor, make a lot of ruckus. Yunho clearly has no chance to ignore it, now that all of his feelings have been laid out before him, and all he has left is the ability to confirm or deny.

Mingi has close to no doubts that he has come to the wrong conclusion; he did not have any before and certainly does not have them now. The problem is that he did not think of what he would do as soon as the words are said, the question asked, and he has to wait for what Yunho has to say to him.

It is for the best, anyhow. Nothing could have prepared him for the complete disregard of any and every word he has uttered in his heated confession, in favor of a low, fragile reply of, “I ordered the car to arrive at ten.”

Mingi blinks at him, “Excuse me?”

“The, uh. The driver will be here in a minute or two. We should—” Yunho clears his throat, looks away— “We should go down.”

“You’re not serious right now?” Mingi huffs, annoyed, the sound similar to a scoff. “You can’t be serious.”

“Mingi...” Yunho tries, in a placating tone that speaks of far more than the sole utter of his name.

Dear God, how could Mingi have been so foolish to believe he would get the truth out of Yunho yet?

“Save it,” Mingi says decisively, and the bitter taste on his tongue is back. “Unless you wanna tell me something I actually wanna hear?”

Mingi raises his eyebrows, prompting Yunho to save himself or leave it be, a last choice he makes that shall decide on how they will go from here. When nothing is all which greets him, Mingi bids farewell to hope, and bites out an unhappy, “Fine, then. Let’s go.”

With more spite and anger than he probably should, Mingi reaches for his bag on the ground and leaves the studio, not waiting up on Yunho. The steps follow him when Mingi is already rushing down the staircase, hell-bent on getting out of here, into the car and home, where he can lock himself into his room and—sulk. Simple as that. Sulk, and maybe cry, maybe angrily punch his pillow. He has an abundance of options.

Rain is the first thing that welcomes him on the street, with a mighty insistence on its rightful presence that it has Mingi drenched and wet in no time. It is cold, autumn showing its true nature in the night, but Mingi does not care, just pulls his coat around himself as a protective layer that has lost all of its power within minutes.

“Mingi,” he barely hears from the entrance of the building, a pleading call from the doorway. “Come on, the driver texted me he’d be late, come wait inside.”

The rain does not stop, and Yunho has a hard time shouting over it, yet Mingi is resolute not to move an inch.

“Don’t be stubborn, you idiot, you’ll catch a cold.”

And so what, what does he care?

He hears muttering from behind him, attempts to focus on the rain and only the rain, closes his eyes to anything but the drops landing softly on his coat, but a hand on his shoulder has him opening them to the fury of a desperate man, who appears taller than he normally is, just with the determination in his step.

“You want to know the truth? All right, here it is,” Yunho says, taking a deep breath. The rain has no mercy on him either, and Mingi watches droplet after droplet land on the soft pinkish blonde of Yunho’s hair, longer now that he has let it grow for a while.

“I have no qualms to admit that I am confident I can keep up with mostly any challenge life throws at me. Hell, our career alone asks so much of me, of us, I am bound to be adaptable and to become someone who can catch up with the world when it’s going just a little bit too fast.

“But you don’t understand how hard it is to follow a world that does not abide by the laws of nature. That constantly falls off its axis, breaks apart, puts itself back together again but in a different way. I am only adjusting, every time, over and over again.

“Ever since I realized that I have fallen in love with you, every step of the way is nothing but a new world I have to readjust to,” Yunho explains, throwing his arms into the air, “and that is so, so, _so_ fucking scary.”

Yunho takes a pause, fingers raking through his wet hair to push it from his face. “Especially when you think you are the only one who has to navigate through unfamiliar territory,” Yunho says, remnants of past miseries in his voice. He steps closer, eyes staring right into Mingi’s soul, and Mingi is unsure what it does to him, that wild intensity unleashed. He only knows that, late in the evening, on the open street where it is easy to pretend that it is just them, it makes his heart stop.

“Your friendship is the most precious thing in my life, Mingi,” Yunho says, “No matter how much the world was changing, you were my one constant. So, excuse me for—for wanting to keep that. I thought lying to you was the only way I could.”

Mingi realizes, with a slight delay, that Yunho is crying. He blames the rain for his late notice.

“You mean _everything_ to me, Song Mingi,” Yunho finally confesses, his eyes soft now, full of love, and his hand rises to Mingi’s cheek. “I’m sorry I led you to believe that you didn’t. I’m sorry I blanked out in there for a minute, but you will have to forgive me for that because it was kind of unfair of you to just—lay it on me like that without a goddamn warning first.”

“Well, now you know what it feels like,” Mingi counters, spirits flying high as a kite.

It is dangerous, though, like this. Yunho’s hand so openly on his cheek, cupping it as though he would lean in to kiss him any second now, but they both know he cannot do so, as much as he might wish to. Even at night, anyone could be watching them.

“I lied to you because I was scared of losing you. Because I thought _you_ figured _me_ out after that morning, and you were relaying the message that I should stay as far away from you as possible, if I was only going to be the lovesick fool I thought you thought I was.”

Yunho brings himself to smile, thumb stroking across Mingi’s cheek before he lets his hand fall to his side again.

“I tried getting over you, afterwards. I tried many times before. But you are my entire universe, Song Mingi, and for the love of God, I cannot ever escape you, can I?”

“No,” Mingi allows himself to smile back. “I don’t want you to, either.”

“Good,” Yunho shudders through a breath, something that has been waiting months to leave his lungs finally making way for the oxygen Yunho needs. “Good.”

“Really fucking good,” Mingi agrees, heart in his throat, but he is grinning from ear to ear.

Yunho laughs, gazing at Mingi with so much fondness in his eyes, it makes the other times Mingi has seen him look at him that way feel like nothing but a weak imitation. “You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now,” Yunho says, the words drowned out to anyone but Mingi because of the rain, and the realization makes Mingi laugh, despite himself.

“Who would have thought you’d be such a cliché cheesy romantic, Yunho? Chasing after me, confessing to me in the rain - now kissing? It’s almost like I’m in a romcom or one of those dramas Seonghwa likes to watch,” Mingi teases him, throwing his arm around Yunho’s shoulder to be close to him in a way that is socially acceptable.

Yunho side-eyes him, the suspicion obvious in his features, and asks, “You didn’t orchestrate this, now did you?”

Mingi fakes a gasp, a hand against his chest telling of his offense, and as he sees the car pulling up before them, he walks away from Yunho with the infamous last words, “I would never do that to my boyfriend, Jeong Yunho.”

Yunho just scoffs in response, following him to the car, “See if you’ll have one, behaving like a brat.”

As they greet the driver - who is frantically apologizing upon taking in their sorry states - and get into the backseat of the car, Mingi just takes Yunho’s hand into his without a word to warn him, squeezes it and finds delight when Yunho squeezes back.

It is the same hand he uses to pull Yunho out of the car when they arrive home - though not before thanking their driver, of course, as they still remember to have manners, even in the fits of youth. Yunho has a hard time keeping up, with how fast Mingi is rushing them to the elevator, unable to stand still even as they come to a stop and have to wait for the doors to close.

In the corner of his vision, he sees Yunho bite his lip to suppress a grin, and it takes all of Mingi’s remaining willpower not to devour Yunho then and there. It is a wonder how they make it into the dorm without giving into the pull, when the force is akin to magnetism, two opposing poles already too close to be kept apart any longer. 

They sneak past Seonghwa in the living room, past Jongho and Yeosang in the kitchen, but they do not make it any further than the hallway in front of Mingi’s room before San catches them, points his fingers and hails Wooyoung to come see, but Mingi is quick to shove Yunho into his bedroom and closes the door to a questioning San.

The millisecond before the inevitable crash feels like half an eternity, but Mingi supposes this is what it must have been like before the big bang - a universe in creation, which would need but a push, and suddenly—

Yunho presses him against the door with a loud thud, invades his space without so much as a single ounce of resistance from Mingi, who catches Yunho’s face in his hand and pulls him close, lips meeting his in the first kiss that matters. 

Surprisingly enough, Yunho does not care that his world is turned upside down in the very same instant, not even as he lands in Mingi's after a gentle but urgent push.

For finally, after the longest time, he is holding the entire universe in his hands, and he gets to keep it.

He is not afraid anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> yes they are still wet but they love each other, and isn’t that what matters most? don’t worry they’ll see reason (maybe) and take a shower, change their clothes and then they’ll be back to smooching (+ more 👁👄👁)
> 
> if you liked this, i would appreciate some word from you. this has taken a lot of time and a lot of effort to create, and i would be very happy to see that it may have touched some of you.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/sangiebyheart) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/sangiebyheart)


End file.
